A Psychic's Touch
by casus17
Summary: Dean responds to a call from an old friend but it may prove deadly for both him and his brother when Sam's 'gifts' prove more dangerous than helpful. Rated T for language later, and a bit of gore. LAST CHAPTER UP! HURRAY!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Dean's on my wish list, and I own that. I don't think he'll be given to me by the CW or WB or Kripke or whoever claims him. Maybe they'll let go of Sam.

**Warnings:** Tad bit gory, not too bad. Language later on, but nothing in this chapter. No spoilers, but the first season's over anyway.

**A Psychic's Touch**

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Chapter 1: The Next Job

Keith Murdoch walked down the empty street, hands in pockets and collar turned up against the icy cold of winter. Music blared into one ear while his other ear listened for footfalls, talking, anything. The only noise was the music.

Keith sniffed and gave a quick, paranoid glance to the sidewalk behind him. The night was eerily quiet, even for his small home town; the hour late and the night blackened further by layers of low cloud hiding the stars. The eeriness heightened his paranoia to an anxious level. He wished he hadn't decided to take a walk to clear his head. If only his wife, Julie, didn't have to be so stubborn.

He sniffed again, knowing full well he would catch a cold from his hasty departure. His heart burned though, at the anger he felt. That was his way: slow to anger and twice as slow to cool down, while in between he was as unstoppable as a rolling stone.

The song ended and he yanked the earphone from his ear, scowling for what felt like the millionth time at the ease with which his teenage son had gotten him addicted to the heavy metal crap kids listened to now. It was the equivalent to what he had listened to, and played in his college days, twenty-odd years ago, and it always made him feel nostalgic. Plus, it was loud and heavy.

An intense feeling of eyes on his back made him stop suddenly, gripping the inside of his pockets. He listened anxiously, straining his ears in the silence. He heard nothing, but the feeling of eyes watching him grew. He began walking again, at a faster pace this time, ears still nervously listening for any sound besides his own footsteps. He traced the path back home, a track well worn in his mind. These midnight walks were becoming more frequent.

Maybe five minutes later he reached his front gate, which creaked noisily as he opened it and then closed it. He would have to oil those hinges soon or he'd be waking the neighbours every night.

He took the path to the garage, knowing full well that Julie would have turned the front door alarm on before going to bed. That she had gone to bed he did not doubt. He could get in through the garage door though; Julie always left that alarm for him to do.

It was then he heard whispers. He stopped, heart beating faster, and fearful sweat broke out underneath his suddenly oppressive and heavy jacket.

"Coming, coming, coming to bite you, claw..." The rest faded to an indistinctive mutter as a wind started up, instantly strong and picking all the iciness from the air that it could. Heart beating yet faster, Keith practically ran to the garage door, and through it. He locked it quickly, blocking all wind and whispers from his ears. Standing with hands on the door, he calmed his nerves, telling himself that childhood paranoia's had finally caught up with him. Heart steady, he turned to go face problems he could fix.

He jumped and almost screamed as he saw a pale figure partly step out of shadow into an unnatural ray of moonlight spilling from the window. Gasping he leaned into the corner, ignoring spider webs.

"Who are you?" he asked in a shaky voice. Keith wished he was nearer the workbench and the crowbar he had left lying there because he was too lazy to put it away. "What are you doing in my garage?"

For a moment the figure - Keith was almost sure it was human - said nothing. Then,

"Coming, coming, coming to bite you, claw you, feed on you, suck you dry..." The figure trailed off. Its eyes glinted in the darkness.

The repetition of the whispers shook Keith to the bone - he felt his legs lock to keep from collapsing.

"What are you?" he heard himself ask with a quiver. The figure didn't answer. It merely stepped forward, moving fully into moonlight.

Keith screamed but that was lost as wind - wind! - picked up in his closed garage. He screamed again as he realized the only thing the gale moved was him - his coat and his hair.

The figure was human, but not. It looked human, except for its eyes and teeth and the way veins seemed to pop out on its pale, pasty face. Its eyes were abruptly a glinting red, while its teeth were long and pointed - the canine teeth protruded over its lower lip. Keith screamed again and tried to run for the crowbar. The figure reached him first.

The monster grabbed Keith's shoulder with one clawed hand and Keith could only watch, lost in horror, as the monster pulled its other arm back and plunged its animal-like claws into his stomach. Keith screamed in agony, but this time he had a sinking feeling no one could hear him.

He dropped to his knees from the pain. Looking up at the monster he felt dread as it turned a merciless gaze upon him. Then it looked away, grinning with ecstasy. Leaning over, it dug its claws into Keith's back. He screamed again, taking a weakening hold on the monster's thigh. He wasn't really coherent in thought or knowledgeable about what he was doing.

Then he screamed as the monster dragged its grip upwards, all the way to the bottom of his head. Keith almost thanked every god he knew of when everything became painless, although unmovable. It took him barely another second to register the fact that he was paralysed. Immediately he could feel his lungs screaming for air they would never get. And a feeling of hysteria passed onto Keith, who wished he could cry and cry, screaming internally as the monster bent down to finish him off.

* * *

The dream faded as Sam slowly woke, the sound of his brother's phone ringing in his ears. Dean had answered it by the time Sam opened his eyes with the dream forgotten.

Dean took his eyes off the road for the barest second, flicking his sight to his little brother in a motion so quick Sam would have missed it if he hadn't been expecting it. Just as quickly Dean transferred his attention back to the road and his phone.

"All right Brian." Dean looked in the Impala's side mirror as he changed lanes. "We'll be there as soon as possible."

He put the phone down and pulled off the highway. "Decided to join the waking world, Sleeping Beauty," Dean joked as a small town appeared in their vision. Sam ignored him, as he had taken to doing lately. He wasn't sleeping properly.

"Who called, and where are we going?" Sam asked instead. It wasn't the usual problems causing the disturbed sleeping patterns. Well it was, but this time he couldn't remember his dreams, and that scared him more, despite the relief of not being a psychic freak every time he closed his eyes. He still knew they were important.

"That was Brian Murdoch," Dean began explaining as he pulled into a petrol station. "A guy I tried to help a few years ago, just after you went to college." He looked slightly uncomfortable as he parked the car beside a pump. "Well I did help him, with a small poltergeist problem. I got rid of the poltergeist but not before it killed his wife."

Dean got out of the car and Sam had to wait until his brother leaned against the car by his window.

"Apparently he moved to be with his brother afterwards. Except last night his brother was killed."

The pump clicked and Sam had to wait longer while Dean paid with one of their numerous false credit cards.

When he came back he turned the car on but didn't move it.

"What's it got to do with us?" Sam asked, pinning his brother with a stare.

"The cops - Brian's one - have no idea who or what's behind the murders. There's been five so far, but the cops thought they had their man when they found him unconscious at the scene. Until Brian's brother's death last night."

"So what's it got to do with us?" Sam repeated. He had a growing feeling of dread about this.

"Like I said the cops have no idea what's behind it. They think it could be human because there have been hand marks on two of the victims. Only the human would have to have been super-strong because... well actually Brian wasn't very clear on that. And despite teeth and claw marks they don't think it's an animal cause each murder was indoors."

"So what do they think it is?" the younger Winchester asked, sighing. He had hoped for at least another week from hunting: their last hunt, a werewolf, had left him exhausted.

"The other cops have no clue. Brian reckons it's a job for us."

Sam sighed again, suppressing that feeling of dread. It was just paranoia and expectation. "Let's go then."

Dean grinned with apprehension, obviously not sensing his younger brother's feelings. He put the car into gear.

* * *

Dean raised his eyebrows at the dusty little town that had seemed to pop out of nowhere. One main street, a few shops and a sombre feel to the whole place.

"Oh god, I hate this thing already," Dean muttered under his breath. He noticed Sam smile tiredly and had to stop from frowning. The kid wasn't sleeping properly again. His brother went back to looking out the window, his face a picture of occupation and inner thinking. Dean decided not to mention.

Instead he said, "Brian told me he'd wait at the pub from 5 pm each day, until we came." He pointed out the front window. "I think that's the pub."

He was pointing to the biggest building in sight, a run down old dump. He sighed, shaking his head.

"This place is teensy. This bitch is so going down."

At least Sam gave a small laugh this time, and turned his gaze to his brother. "Dean, you hate any place smaller than New York."

"I've told you a million times, Sammy don't exaggerate."

"And I've told you a million times, it's Sam, not Sammy."

"Whatever," Dean retorted. "We'll check into that motel," he pointed to a ramshackle building with a 'Vacancy' sign out the front. "It's almost four. I'll go see Brian, while you research this place. OK?"

Sam nodded, rubbing his eyes. Dean couldn't really keep it in any longer.

"Dude, you should try sleeping some time, too." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Dean," was all he said back.

"Yeah, whatever."

They pulled into the motel car park and Sam felt relieved to finally stretch his legs. Five minutes later they were throwing bags onto two single beds with surprisingly clean sheets. The interior definitely didn't match the exterior, of the motel or the town.

Almost immediately Sam plugged the laptop in, finding pages concerning the town's history fairly easily. Soon enough he was shaking his head.

"Nothing we should worry about," he was telling Dean as his older brother checked their father's journal for any useful information. "No killings since the 1920's, no massacres, no stolen land..." His eyebrows rose as his voice trailed off. "This town has maybe the cleanest history I've ever seen. Until a few weeks ago when these murders started."

"So why does Dad have this place circled in his journal?" Dean asked, tossing the open book to Sam. Looking at it Sam just shrugged.

"Who knows? We're sure to find out soon I suppose." But it still began annoying him, and he again had to suppress those feelings of dread. Only this time Dean noticed.

"What is it, Sammy?" the older Winchester asked. Sam didn't even correct him this time, which worried Dean.

"Nothing. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's nothing."

"Come on Sam, don't hold out on me."

Sam sighed. "It's just... ever since you got that call I've been getting these weird feelings. Like if we stay something bad will happen. But then I think about leaving and the feeling gets worse. It's like we're screwed either way."

He saw the look, of Dean seeing something he didn't recognise, and it hurt. He hated that look, though he knew Dean didn't mean it. But Dean, for Sam, was as easy to read as a book.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Sam repeated quickly. He checked his watch. "We should leave if Brian's meeting us at five."

"Us?" Dean questioned like a big brother ought to. "Don't you think-?" Sam cut him off.

"I'm fine. I don't need any sleep." He stood. "Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Wish desperately that I did. Oh well

**Warning:** Nothing in this chapter.

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Chapter 2: The Thing About Visions

Dean shook Brian's hand as the older man sat down across the table from him and Sam. He knew, could pick straight away, the old passionate grief for his murdered wife, and felt another stab of guilt at not saving her. It didn't make it any better that Brian, being one of those genuinely good and open people didn't blame him at all for Katherine's death.

"This is my brother Sam," he introduced. The two shook hands and Sam smiled warmly in that easing way of his, with that smile that instantly made people like and trust him.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Sam said. In a small flash both of them saw the newer grief overlay the old. And then the loss of his wife, that keen grief, was prominent once more.

"Thanks," Brian replied, waving at what they assumed was a friendly face. Then he turned his gaze back on them, frowning. "And thanks for coming. I'm just hoping you can help. Not just for me. This whole town's in mourning. If one person dies everyone knows who it was and is affected. When five are murdered, in such a horrible way..." He let it hang in the air.

Dean nodded. "That's what we're here to do, if we can." He took a sip of his beer. "What can you tell us?"

Brian sighed and undid the top button of his uniform. "There have been five murders so far. Keith's just the latest. The first took place 3 weeks ago. We can't find any pattern - the victims shared as little as any who live in a town this size and there's none of the usual consistency."

"How were they killed?" Sam asked, ignoring his own drink. He was far more interested in the emotions passing over the cop's face.

"All mauled, in various ways. Almost like an animal mauling, but in closed rooms, with no sign of forced entry, or the usual animal signs. But at the same time the attacks have had too much strength behind them to have been done by humans." He shook his head, apparently confused.

"What about this guy you found at the fourth killing? What does he say?" Dean asked. Sam seemed lost in thought.

"James Archer, thirty-three. He's a... was an English teacher, and, rumours say, the local closet-psychic."

Dean avoided looking at Sam who was suddenly very interested in his glass. Brian noticed none of what passed between the two brothers.

"What does he say happened?" Dean asked to keep the conversation moving.

"He says he doesn't remember anything. We all thought he was lying, but we can't prove that. It doesn't matter. He had the victim's skin and blood under his nails and in his teeth."

Brian shuddered, not seeing the brother's half-disgusted, half-thoughtful glance at each other.

"Can we speak to him?" Sam asked. "And can we see the reports?"

Brian chewed his lip thoughtfully. "You're not cops," he began until Dean interrupted him.

"We can fix that." Brian winced.

"I forgot, your fake id's." He sighed, shaking his head. "Just don't get caught."

Dean nodded and Brian shook his head again, before he and Dean turned to their own, relaxed conversation.

Sam blanked out of it, leaving them to their memories. Drawing little signs in the condensation of his glass, he suddenly felt eyes on the back of his head. He turned and just spied a brunette teenage girl looking away. Immediately she aroused his curiosity. Not just because she had been watching him. But because he suddenly felt a strange kinship with her. Which was strange.

"Who's that?" he asked Brian motioning to the girl who kept glancing up at him from where she was cleaning tables.

"That's Sasha Farrell. Her uncle owns this pub and she's lived with for most of her life, ever since her parents died. Why?" he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Sam didn't hear it but responded absently.

"It's nothing. She was just staring is all."

Immediately all suspicion was gone, but Brian stood.

"I have to go," he said offering first Dean and then Sam his hand. They both shook it. "Don't forget, 9am tomorrow. And try to look the part this time."

* * *

"What did he mean, try to look the part?" Sam asked Dean when they were back in the motel room. Sam had turned the laptop on again, looking for information about the five victims and the accused killer. He heard Dean answer from the bathroom.

"When I was trying to help him last time, I acted as a cop - I even got the uniform. But apparently it was all wrong and... Well, he knew that. He had a gun on me before I even knew it was a poltergeist."

Sam smiled as Dean flushed the toilet and came back to the beds. That was so like his brother.

"What have you got?" he asked. Sam shrugged.

"The first victim was killed in her apartment. Her name was Paula Collins. No one heard or saw anything. Just like all the others."

He got more comfortable on the bed and continued.

"Victim 2 was Kylie Walker, single mother of 3, killed in her bedroom. Number 3 was Edward Harper, in his office. Number 4 was Lucy Taylor, grandmother - don't you love it how newspapers dramatise everything."

He ignored Dean's eye rolling. "Last one was of course, Keith Murdoch, killed in his garage."

Sam shook his head. "From what I can tell, Brian's right. There's no consistency at all. All at different times, though it was all at night. It doesn't make sense. It's got to be a demon, but even the most basic demon has a pattern."

Dean nodded while Sam stifled a yawn, flicking now through the photos from the articles to see if anything popped up there.

"Huh," he said in a disbelieving tone. Something had popped up but nothing like what he had expected.

"What is it?" Dean looked up from what he was doing.

"That girl, Sasha Farrell, who was staring at me in the pub. She's in every one of these photos."

Dean raised his eyebrows and went over to take a look. Then he shrugged. "It's a small town. Probably just a coincidence. They do happen."

_Not to us,_ Sam wanted to say but he was stopped by another yawn, which he cracked his jaw on by trying to smother it.

"Dude, get some sleep." Dean ordered, taking the computer away. Sam shook his head.

"I'm fine."

"Like hell you are. Are you having more nightmares?" he asked. Sam sighed.

"Not that I remember." It was the truth, but Dean took it to mean no.

"Then at least lie down, or shower while I get dinner. There's got to be at least one takeaway restaurant in this sorry excuse for a town."

* * *

Dean left and Sam had to push instant worry down. It was so much harder to ignore these feelings when there was no one to hide them from. He took Dean's advice. He went to have a shower.

He let the water run as hot as he could bear it before stepping under the spray. He tensed at the pain from the hot needles of water, but finally began to relax as his body became used to it. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, letting the spray work knots out of his other shoulder. He took a deep breath and stood completely under the water. He was so tired; these nightmares were getting to him again, like nothing since he had met Max. He was still trying to decide whether or not the nightmares or the sudden inability to remember them was worse.

Sam forced his body to relax again, and stifled a yawn. He lifted his head to face the spray. This was helping. Suppressing those feelings of dread took it out of him, created stress and tension in his own head. It made him so tired.

Sam barely felt his feet slipping on the wet tiles before he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The pizzas warmed Dean's hand through the cardboard as he got out of the car. They smelled great as well.

As soon as he was in the motel room though, he knew something wrong. Dropping the pizzas onto his bed he moved to the bathroom door. He could hear the water running, though he could have sworn he had heard Sam turn it on before he left. That had been half an hour ago.

Dean knocked on the door. "Sammy?" No answer.

"Sam?" he tried again. Still no answer. He tried the handle: it was locked.

"Sammy?" It was louder this time. He tried shaking the handle, knowing full well that wouldn't work. He tried a shoulder instead and to his surprise, the door opened.

"Sam!" he exclaimed at seeing his little brother lying face down on the floor, water pooling around him and a towel thankfully hiding anything Dean didn't relish seeing. He went to his knees beside Sam, rolling him over.

"Sammy?" Dean repeated, checking for a pulse, thankful when he found one, strong and steady. But his brother's face was pale, and his whole body trembled.

"Sam, wake up," Dean half-ordered. "Do it now kiddo, or I'm gonna call you 'Sammy' for the rest of your life."

Surprisingly the threat worked seemed to work. Sam's eyes popped open and Dean saw the fear before his little brother cloaked it with practised ease.

"We've got to help her," were the first words out of Sam's mouth as he struggled to sit up. Then he saw the towel and turned red. "What happened?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Dean responded, standing to clear his legs out of the water. His pants were soaked but he still helped Sam to his feet.

Dean had expected Sam to spill all, but the younger Winchester instead ran from the bathroom to his clothes. Dean looked on in shock as Sam began dressing.

"Sam! What's the matter?" This wasn't like his kid brother. Sam was the one who stepped back and thought about things. He didn't rush in head on. Sam didn't stop, but explained - sort of - as he got dressed.

"I had a nightmare - a premonition. I know it was." He pulled a t-shirt over his head. "This woman... she's gonna die. If we don't leave now."

He sat on the edge of his bed to put his sneakers on. With a start Dean realized the water was still running. He turned it off as he spoke.

"What, she's gonna be killed by this... whatever." Dean still didn't feel Sam's insistency. He was too worried about why his brother had collapsed in the shower.

"Yes," Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Hurry up and change your pants." He was on the other shoe now. "Come on." And he headed for the door.

* * *

The house was dark when Dean pulled the Impala up out front. There was no sign of life despite it being only seven. Other houses, none close by, glowed with light but this one was dark.

"Are you sure this is it?" Dean asked Sam, who nodded. This was definitely the house he had seen.

"So what happened?" Dean asked for maybe the tenth time. All his other enquiries had been met with a "Drive faster" from Sam. "What did you see?"

Sam felt his stomach clench with the memory. It had been very strange and very frightening

"I was in the shower." He had been relaxing and had let his guard down - stupid but it would allow them to save this woman. He almost wondered whether it was worth it. "I must have fallen when I fell unconscious. But there was no warning, like the headaches or anything. Just one minute I was in the shower, the next I was watching this house."

He felt Dean frown and decided to ignore it. "Then I... saw this thing appear at the window. Only for an instant..." He hoped Dean hadn't noticed his pause. "Then I was by her window, watching this thing practically rip her to shreds. She was screaming and there was a roaring wind. And then I woke up."

Dean took a deep breath, peering through the front window at the house, trying to see any movement at all.

"This woman? What did she look like?"

"That was what was strange. I felt like I knew her. She was so familiar but I can't remember where from." Sam too, peered through the window, giving the shotgun by his leg a reassuring touch.

"And this thing. What did it look like?"

Sam didn't answer for a moment. Then he answered quietly, "I don't know. I didn't see it."

Dean nodded. "Could be a ghost, or some kind of spirit." Sam didn't say anything. "Look, dude, I don't think anyone's here. Are you sure it was tonight?"

Sam nodded. "It was dark, and my premonitions usually come close to the actual time. I mean, they have so far," he pointed out.

Dean leaned back in his seat. "All right, we might as well stay. That's the reason I pay for motel rooms after all, just so I can sleep in my car." But he didn't close his eyes, just sat there, pretending to watch the house. Sam knew his brother was watching him.

Sam didn't close his eyes either. He was afraid to have another dream.

He had lied to Dean. He hadn't watched the thing rip that poor woman apart. He had _been _the thing that had ripped her apart. Well, not him, but he had been in its body, feeling every slice, hearing every scream, and revelling in its every thrust of barbaric ecstasy. He forced the bile down and tensed his shaking hands. He wasn't about to let his guard down again.

* * *

Dawn came and Sam was still awake. Dean had gone to sleep long ago, a slight snore ripping out of him every now and then.

Sam was watching the still lifeless house. He felt gutted. Nothing had happened. Nothing, all night. So what had his nightmare been? Why had he dreamed that? The bile rose again. It had felt so real; he had felt her skin shred beneath his claws... realizing he was staring at his nails, he fisted his hand and continued to stare out the window.

The first rays struck the Impala's hood and Dean woke with a start and a snort. Sniffing, he sat up and looked around.

"What time is it?"

Dean looked at his watch and then at the sun creeping in through the window.

"I'm guessing nothing happened," he stated, giving Sam a look. Sam just shook his head, feeling frustrated and slightly embarrassed.

"Maybe it was just a normal nightmare," Dean began.

"No!" Sam practically shouted, causing Dean's eyebrows to rise. "It wasn't normal." God, let it not be normal. What was he becoming if that was normal? "It felt so real."

He turned away to swallow yet more bile. Dean still noticed.

"You okay, Sammy?" He was truly concerned. Sam rubbed his forehead.

"I'm fine. I just don't like these nightmares."

Dean seemed to take that as he bent to turn the engine on. Sam stopped him with a frantic look.

"What are you doing?" Dean gave him a strange look.

"It's daytime. You said your dream was at night. And we have to get ready to meet Brian at the station."

Sam almost felt like smiling. Almost. A year ago his brother would have just winged it. Like he was the first time with Brian. But he didn't say anything; just quelled the sudden panic and leaned back in the seat. Dean drove back to the motel.

* * *

Thanks for reading people! Hang in there for the next chapters. Please?


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Dean, Sam, and everything Supernatural related belongs to whoever owns them. It's hard to tell these things down here, but hey, I don't own them

**Warning:** Um, let's see, nothing in this one, I think. Don't worry, it's coming.

**Author's Note:** OMG thank you sooooo much to all the people who reviewed. If you didn't know, this is my first fanfiction and everyone was incredibly nice! A shout out to Faye Dartmouth for reviewing like five minutes after I posted! I went to bed smiling! Hope you all like this chapter!

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Chapter 3: Coincidences

Three hours later Dean parked the Impala out the front of the smallest police station he had ever seen. Brian was already waiting out the front, a mug in his hand.

"Let me see them," was the first thing the real cop said, holding out his free hand. Dean cocked his head questioningly.

"The badges, Dean. The nice shiny badges to go with that claim of being whatever you're being."

Sam handed his over first, the fake id claiming he was Detective Sam Davis. Dean was close behind with his Detective Dean Jordan one.

Brian's eyes widened slowly as he took in the badges. "Are these real?" he asked in a slightly higher tone than usual.

"They were real," Dean answered simply.

"It's best not to dwell on it," Sam added. Obviously Brian decided not to: he handed the badges back but didn't turn to go inside.

"I've told the others I knew you from when I worked in the city a few years ago, before I moved here. I told them I'd give you a call if they agreed. They did. They think you're detectives, or something. I didn't really elaborate." Looking at Dean specifically, he ended with, "Try to act the part right this time."

They all walked inside where five other policemen stood to greet them. Brian introduced as they all shook hands.

"State Police," Sam explained. Two of the cops looked at each other

"I thought you knew Brian from the city - colleagues..."

Dean nodded. "For a while. Me and Sam were assigned to a case in the city. Some brutal, brutal murders. Brian was our aide from the local department."

The cops appeared to be satisfied, eased further by Sam's, "We're here to help," and that charming smile of his.

* * *

A few minutes later Sam and Dean were sitting at a table by themselves. Well, Dean was actually sitting on the table, flicking through a victim's file, while Sam searched the file of James Archer, the accused killer. What shocked him most was that the man looked so normal. And yet the victim's skin had been found in his teeth.

"Argh, nothing I can find there." Dean dropped the file impatiently down on the table. Sam ignored him and continued to read Archer's file. There was something... curious about it. Like he already knew the man. But that was impossible.

Sighing, he closed the file. Catching his eye was the file Dean had just finished with. It had landed open and the face of victim number two stared up at him. It was a face he had seen before, had ripped to shreds with his own claws.

"Oh my God," Sam whispered. Swallowing, to both wet his mouth and push his breakfast back down, he continued. "That's the woman. That's the woman I dreamed about."

Dean gave him a confused look. "Sam, that woman's been dead almost two weeks. How can you be dreaming about her dying?"

"I don't know!" His heart was racing. Seeing the future was bad enough, but now he was reliving the past as well? He put his head in his hands. They were both silent for a time, which was only broken by the noise of the chimes in the front door. They both listened, preferring to hear that than their own thoughts.

"Claire, what can we do for you?" one of the cops asked. The answer came in a weak, shaky voice.

"I killed Mrs Walker."

Dean and Sam looked at each other. "Is that..?" Dean began.

Sam nodded. "That's the woman I dreamed about."

They were out of the room five seconds later. The policeman who had spoken was just letting a pale-faced woman - Claire they assumed - into an interview room.

"We'll speak to her first," Dean stated, stopping the aged man who was just about to follow the woman in. He looked like he was about to argue until Brian spoke up.

"That's what they're here to do, Walt."

The man, Walt, stepped aside, but raised a threatening finger. "You be easy on her. That's my niece in there. You push her too hard..."

"We won't push hard at all," Sam promised before closing the door in his face.

He sat down next to Dean, across from Claire, studying her as Dean took out a tape recorder. She was maybe twenty-eight, too thin but naturally so. She had on thin-rimmed glasses, dimming the light in her devastated green eyes. Like with Archer's file, he could feel a strong connection with her. A kinship. He so desperately wanted to know what they all shared.

"Can you state your full name, address and date of birth," Dean ordered, sounding every bit the cop and pressing record. She obliged in a small, shaky voice.

"Claire Piper. 17 Connell Street, Merchant. 8th June 1978." She kept looking at her shaking hands and Sam felt sorry for her.

"It's okay Claire," he comforted in a warm voice. She finally looked up. "My name's Sam, and this is Dean. We're with the State Police."

Dean seemed to pick up some of his brother's warmth. "What do you think you've done?" he asked in one of the kindest voices Sam had ever heard him use.

Claire took a deep, shuddering breath. "Two weeks ago. I woke up with one of the worst headaches I've ever had. It hurt so bad I couldn't move. I felt sick, and tired, and really out of it. And I couldn't remember anything from the night before."

There were tears coming now. Claire's words were almost hard to hear.

"Then last night I suddenly collapsed. And I dreamed of... killing..." She couldn't seem to go on.

Sam felt Dean tense, but it was nothing compared to the stress he suddenly had knotting his muscles. "What time was this?" he asked. Claire continued to look down at her hands.

"Maybe 6, 6:30. But I didn't wake up until this morning." She shook her head. "It had to have been shock. What I saw was horrible. What I did."

"If you saw it in a dream, how can you be sure you did it?" Dean asked. Sam, however, felt he partially understood. His own vision had been terrifying. And if she had seen exactly as he had...

"Because it was me. I was the one, in the dream, who mu...murd...murdered Mrs Walker. I don't know how, or why - I still can't remember that. Just that I ripped her apart with..." She trailed off as she raised her hands to look at them, horrified. She began sobbing.

Sam flexed his hands under the table. He knew how she felt. Except he knew that he couldn't have killed that woman. Claire had no such assurances. She had just dreamed about killing a woman who had died on the same night from which she had no memory.

"Thank you Claire," Sam said, standing. He felt Dean's confusion but was grateful when his brother stood as well. "We will get to the bottom of this."

Dean closed the door behind him, having let Walt through to see his teary niece. He led Sam a small way down the hallway before turning.

"What was that?" he asked quietly, a little angry. "I still had more questions."

"Questions she couldn't answer," Sam retorted, leaning against the wall. "You saw her. She doesn't remember anything, except what she dreamed."

"What you dreamed." He couldn't believe that. It was bad enough Sammy was even having these nightmares. His little brother looked terrible. Dean couldn't believe he had stayed awake all night. He had these little rings under his eyes that no one else would notice.

"What I dreamed," Sam confirmed. Dean pushed a hand through his hair.

"So what do you think anyway? What do you think it is?"

Sam leaned back. "I'm not sure. I'm almost certain it's a demon of some kind but..." Dean finished the sentence.

"But it could also be a spirit. Possession?" he asked half-questioningly. Sam gave a slow thoughtful shake of his head.

"Probably. Maybe. It would explain Claire's memory loss, and her dream." He shrugged. "I dunno. We should talk to Archer, see what he's got to say."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Brian said Archer didn't remember anything. Maybe we can jog his memory."

* * *

Brian had Archer brought to the other interview room, where Sam and Dean were already waiting. Sam stood in the corner, half covered in shadow. Dean sat in the chair, leaning back relaxedly. He could feel Sam's tension and knew his little brother was under a lot of pressure. What was Sam hiding? That he was hiding something Dean knew for certain, just as he knew that he couldn't drag it out. He had to wait, and it was killing him.

The door opened and Archer came in, hands cuffed behind his back. Dean felt Sam tense some more. He had to admit, for such a normal looking man Archer gave him the creeps as well. It was just something about him.

Archer sat down, staring into Sam's corner, while Brian left. As soon as the cop shut the door though Archer let a bombshell drop.

"Sam Winchester right?"

Dean felt instantly pummelled and sat forward. "How the hell did you know that?" Surprisingly it wasn't Archer who answered.

"You really are a psychic aren't you," Sammy blurted out, coming to sit down beside Dean, who was amazed at the change in his brother. It was as if a fire had been lit inside him, ridding him of stress.

Archer nodded. "So you knew we were coming?" Dean asked, a little confused and put up. This time Archer shook his head.

"Not both of you. I knew you would Dean. I wasn't sure about you though Sam. But I did know that if both of you weren't here there would be deadly consequences."

Dean was in shock. He hadn't expected this. How could he have?

"Consequences. For who?" Sam was asking. Archer shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. You're here. We all have a much better chance."

"A better chance at what?" Dean heard himself ask. This was crazy. How did this guy know all this?

Archer replied with one word but it was enough to send shivers down their spines.

"Survival."

"What is it?" Dean asked. Sam was glad he had taken over the questioning. He was trying to piece together everything in his mind.

Archer shrugged. "I don't know. But it is powerful. I felt it arrive in this town four weeks ago. A week before it killed its first victim."

"When I started having the nightmares." Sam had said it before he could stop himself.

"What?" Dean snapped. "You said you weren't having any!"

"I actually said I couldn't remember them. And I couldn't." He looked up at Archer. "Until last night."

For the first time, Archer looked surprised. "What happened last night?" Dean shook his head.

"First tell us what happened with you," he ordered. It was obvious he was still trying to come to terms with the revelations of the past few minutes, and more kept on hitting him.

Archer leaned back in his chair. "I was at my mother's house, like I am every Tuesday. I was feeling really tired. Almost fluey, you know. And then... I don't know what happened. But I woke up with guns in my face and... and someone's b-blood in my mouth."

He turned white and shuddered. "But it wasn't me. I still don't remember. Anything. But to police, evidence means more." He shrugged but was plainly very disturbed by what he had done.

"Same as with Claire," Sam muttered under his breath. Archer managed to hear.

"Claire? Claire Piper?" He shook his head. "It's what I feared. It's too much of a coincidence for it not to be."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. Sam was just as confused.

"For the moment it arrived here, I wondered why. Why did it come? This town, I thought, held nothing for it." He shook his head again, almost a twitch. "Then the first murder happened. And I started thinking it wasn't the town, but its inhabitants. They're special." He looked at Sam. "This town holds an astounding number of, well, psychics. More than, I'd expect, you would find in a whole other state."

Sam swallowed. A town full of people like him. Archer nodded. "Now I think this thing came here to use us. To use psychics. I don't know why. Claire though, was my pupil. She had just begun learning, but she was already pretty strong. And two of my other students, Daniel and Louise, have complained of missing a whole night in their memory."

"And they're both psychics?" Dean just had to confirm it.

"Sort of," Archer answered. "They have the potential. To be very strong, as well. But they're afraid of it. That's why I started helping them. I am..." He looked over at Sam again, as if calculating him. "... was the strongest psychic here. I'd be careful if I were you Sam."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** The voices in my head reckon Supernatural is mine. The voices in my head are delusional.

**Warning:** Getting into the gore a bit here. Not too bad. But then T.V. has desensitized me. No worse than the man's hand in the sink during 'Home'. Now that was gross. Oh, and when the perspective switches in this chapter, it goes back in time like five seconds too. Just wanted you to know.

**Author's Note:** Do you know there are some lovely people out there? I'm talking to you, my beautiful reviewers. Hope you enjoy this next happy chappie and have fun.

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Chapter 4: Reliving the Past

The small house was deserted, but the road out front was surprisingly busy for such a small town. Dean parked the Impala a few houses down and the brothers walked the rest of the distance. While Dean looked out, Sam picked the lock.

The cottage belonged, or had belonged, to Lucy Taylor, the grandmother Archer had been accused of killing. The inside was tidy, well cleaned after the mess left by the attack, but hopefully with plenty of supernatural 'evidence' ready for Sam and Dean to study.

"So what do you make of Archer?" Dean asked, speaking loudly so Sam would hear from the room over. They were searching and scanning different rooms with their oh so cool toys.

"I think he's the real deal," Sam half-yelled back.

"And what about all these psychics? Think they're the real deal?" The lounge was empty.

"I think they're the reason Dad has this place circled in his journal," was the reply.

Dean moved into the kitchen, frowning. He thought the same thing. About Archer as well, sadly. The man's warning to Sam had sounded ominous.

"Think we should talk to those other two Archer mentioned?" he moved back down the hallway, giving a quick glance up the hallway where Sam had gone.

"They don't remember. But maybe we-."

There was no thump, no bang. Sam just cut off.

"Sam?" Dean started heading the way his little brother had gone. There was no answer. "Sammy!"

He broke into a run, skidding around the corner into the bedroom. He could see into the bathroom from here. Only, he wasn't really sure what he was seeing. Just that his little brother was on the ground, shrinking away from something invisible.

Suddenly there was a scream. It was terrified, and frail, but soft, almost like a memory. And it came from,

"Sam?" Dean whispered it. His heart was pounding. He moved closer to the bathroom door, but didn't go through it.

His brother looked petrified, but there was a dullness to his eyes as well, as if he wasn't all there. Maybe he wasn't.

"Sammy?"

* * *

"I think he's the real deal," Sam half-yelled back. He could hear the worry in Dean's voice. Worry for him. It annoyed him.

"And what about all these psychics? Think they're the real deal?"

"I think they're the reason Dad has this place circled in his journal." He was twenty-two after all, he could look after himself. He moved into Lucy Taylor's bedroom, scanning for anything supernatural.

"Think we should talk to those other two Archer mentioned?" Sam almost didn't hear Dean's words. A flash of... something caught his eye, a pull from the bathroom. He took a few involuntary steps toward it, not realizing what he was doing.

He felt his fingers drop... something. What had he been holding again? He heard someone - was it him? - someone answer Dean.

"They don't remember." His head felt all foggy and for some reason he was in the bathroom. He felt like... uh, he... his lack of sleep must have been catching up on him. "But maybe we -."

A blinding pain erupted in his head, cutting him off mid-sentence. Closing his eyes he leaned against the sink, but the pain only became worse and worse. He grunted and, as if the noise was a switch, slid into the dark recesses of his mind.

_He looked into the mirror. His reflection was blurry but that didn't bother him in the slightest. He reached into his mouth and pulled out the false teeth. The glass of water waited eagerly._

_A noise caught his ears. He looked quickly into the mirror, not expecting to see anything. He looked back a second later. _

_Something was watching him. Gasping, he spun, but too fast. His unsteady feet slipped with the mat, and he landed on the replacement hip doctors had given him seven years ago. He cried out in pain as he felt something frail snap._

_A foot came into his view. It was a sneaker, but the seams of the shoe bulged, as if the foot was too big._

_His eyes travelled up the bulging leg to the naked torso. The ribs stuck out unnaturally. There were teeth protruding over the lower lip; long yellow teeth that curved fiercely. The eyes looked familiar, and almost human, but they glinted under the shadows of jutting, ape-like brows. He whimpered._

_"What are you?"_

_The beast didn't answer him. At least not verbally. Instead it lashed out and down with a clawed hand, slashing his chest. He screamed, more in fright than anything, though the flesh wound hurt. Standing back up straight the beast stepped closer until it stood over him. It stared down mercilessly, and he finally realized it wanted to... it would kill him._

_"Please don't hurt me?" It was a croaking beg, his throat like dust from the fear. The plea seemed to bring a reaction, just not the one he wanted. It made a throaty sound: laughter._

_He suddenly realized he was crying and whimpering. The sound of the laughter was terrible. Terrifying. But his cries only seemed to make it laugh harder. It leaned down, teeth flashing in the light._

_He was screaming instantly._

Sam jumped as shaking brought him crashing back to reality. His face and t-shirt were soaked, and his throat hurt.

He pushed hands off him and stumbled into a run from his inert position lying on the floor. He just made it to the kitchen sink before he threw up.

Having discarded everything he had eaten in the past day Sam turned and slid down the cupboards. His legs couldn't hold him up. He was trembling weakly and breathing heavily.

A shaking hand placed a tall glass in his view. Sam looked up to accept the water gratefully from Dean. His big brother looked half as bad as Sam felt, which was actually saying something.

The pale-faced Dean sat next to his baby brother. Sam took a long drink of the water, barely struggling to keep it down.

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen," Dean stated softly, staring at nothing on the kitchen floor. That was a big admission for Sam's self-confessed fearless brother. "You were shaking, and whimpering, almost like you were seizing or something. What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure." His voice was hoarse, and it shook. "But I don't think it was a vision."

"You've never had one like that." Dean's agreement seemed solid, unaffected. But Sam knew his brother. "What did you see?"

"I saw the demon doing all this. He's possessing people. I'm sure about it." He swallowed, remembering the terror. "I was Lucy Taylor. As that bitch ripped her apart."

His voice wavered, but he still managed to catch Dean forcing his hand flat. The fist had been turning white. Sam pushed his hair back from his face.

"So you're having visions of the past now." Dean didn't mean it as a question.

"I don't think so. It was more like I was, I dunno, caught in the memory or something."

Dean made a sound in the back of his throat. "Can that happen?"

"Dunno. I think I need to speak to Archer again."

It was Dean's turn to shake his head. "No way. We're leaving. This town, this hunt, it's killing you."

"We are not leaving Dean." Sam was mortified at the thought. He wouldn't allow people to die because he was being weak. "I'm fine."

"You haven't slept since we got here, Sam. You look like shit-." Sam cut him off.

"Just leave it Dean. We are not going."

They barely became aware of the shadow until it was over them. "I think you should be going. Right now."

Dean jumped to a standing, but Sam just looked up - he wasn't sure his legs could support him just yet.

Standing over him was the last person he could ever have expected. It was the girl who had been watching him in the pub, Sasha Farrell, looking nervous but angry.

Upon seeing his face however, she bit her lower lip. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice much softer.

"Fine," Sam answered. "Just ate something that didn't agree." He decided to struggle up. Dean helped a little.

"Did you just vomit in the sink?" she asked, affronted, having lost that softness now that she could see he was okay. Dean answered likewise. Sam wasn't really listening. For a moment there, he had thought...

"What's it to you?" Dean sounded so childish. The girl, instead of being frightened, bristled.

"It's my neighbour's house," she explained, crossing her arms across her chest. "And you're trespassing. I'd appreciate it if you didn't make a nasty mess while you were at it."

Sam decided his efforts would be needed to calm Dean down. His brother was obviously not coping with defending himself against the teenage girl.

"It's okay," Sam began. "We're State Police. I'm Sam, and this is Dean."

Sasha muttered something under her breath. He could have sworn it was, 'Like hell you are.' Out loud, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Dean answered, having gathered his wits. "We're checking out the crime scenes. Not that it's any of you business."

Sam rolled his eyes. Maybe Dean hadn't gathered his wits. "What are you doing here?"

She uncrossed her arms. "I told you, this is my neighbour's house. I saw you break in and almost called Mr Murdoch 'til I remembered seeing you talking to him yesterday. I thought I'd ask first. It's good that I did huh?"

She sounded almost half-believing of their story, which Sam took. What was it about her that... He nodded.

"It doesn't matter. We're leaving now anyway." She frowned.

"Hope you were planning on cleaning that up," she said, indicating the sink Sam had thrown up in.

Dean's face fell but Sam plastered on a reassuring smile. "Of course." His voice came through strained though. For a teenager, Sasha was forceful.

She just smiled as if she knew something no one else did, and turned to leave. As she turned the corner, she called out, "I'm Sasha by the way."

* * *

Five minutes later Dean and Sam were sitting in the Impala silently.

"Wow," was all Dean could manage to say. It was the first chance either had had to comment about all the morning's events. He watched Sam nod, though his little brother still looked pale, and he still shook.

"Yep, that pretty much sums up this morning," the younger hunter replied, taking a mouthful of bottled water.

"So what now?" Dean asked, half-hopeful. Sam dashed his hopes.

"We're not leaving, Dean."

"Okay, okay. But we need a next step. We need to figure out more about this demon."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I didn't see it very well though. I think she needed glasses."

"Don't worry about that. Don't even think about it." It would plague him enough in his nightmares, Dean knew. "There are other ways to hunt down this bastard."

Sam sighed in relief before he could stop himself. "First I need to go speak to Archer again."

"You go speak to him," Dean offered. "I'll go look at the other sites."

Sam wanted to say no. But he couldn't. He didn't want to chance going through that again. He nodded. "Let's go."

He had experienced both sides now. Murderer and murdered. Both were terrifying. He didn't want to go through either again, not if he could stop it. He hid a shuddering breath from Dean. He needed sleep desperately. He felt like the energy was being sucked from him the longer he stayed awake. It would be so easy to just lay his head down... But he knew what was waiting, and the knowledge terrified him almost as much as the dreams would.

* * *

If you're reading this, you are WONDERFUL! Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Sigh. I don't own them.

**Warning:** Teensy bit of gore. A few F-bombs. Sorry.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so I have a problem. This weekend is huge. Several parties, so there won't be any posting tomorrow, most likely. That's not really the problem. Problem is that this weekend, my family is also moving. Okay, so it's only next door, but we're renovating. We have electricity (I think) and hot water (or we better). However, there is no phone line, which means no internet, which means no updating or posting. Just so you know, after Saturday (Aus Time anyway) there might not be an update for a time, unless I find some way to get past the security on the school's computers. I am soooooo sorry, I didn't know that we wouldn't have a phone line when I started posting. So, if there's no update for ages, that's the reason why. Just wanted to let you know. Sorry!

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Chapter 5: Telling All

Sam let himself into Archer's cell. He had already been told to knock when he was finished.

Archer sat up when he came in, instantly picking up vibes. "What happened?" the psychic asked caringly. Surprising himself, Sam told Archer everything.

The older man whistled. "I've heard of this happening. It's because of the connection between psychics. It must be. You must be very strong to have picked it up though." He swallowed. "It's because... a psychic killed Mrs Taylor." He was still trying to deny having had any part in killing her, Sam realized. "A psychic kinds of lets his or her vibes out there, as well as picking them out. That's the reason why you can always tell who is a psychic. We pick up on each other's gift. I suppose when a psychic does something like kill someone, it's theoretically, and obviously realistically, possible for another psychic to enter the memory."

Sam stood. He hadn't wanted to hear that. "So why'd I get Claire's dream as well." Archer shrugged.

"Same kind of reason I guess. You picked up her vibes. They're always stronger in the unconscious state." He shrugged again. "I don't really know. I've never come across this before."

"Yeah, well, it's new for the both of us." He felt his legs wobble and had to sit down again.

"You haven't been sleeping have you?" Archer seemed very concerned. Sam shook his head before placing it in his hands. "You shouldn't be scared of the visions. They'll come easier if you accept your ability."

"Accept it?" Sam laughed into his hands. He didn't know how to accept it. Why should he accept something like that? All he wanted was to be normal, lead a normal life. He stood to leave, knocking on the door.

"Sam?" Archer's voice made him turn back. "There's always a reason for everything." The door opened. "And we always find those reasons."

* * *

Dean parked the Impala out the front of the house, in the exact same spot as the night before. This time though, he opened the door and went into the house.

He had found out, from reading the reports, that Kylie Walker's house had been empty since her murder. That was how Dean liked it. He didn't have to come up with stories.

The empty house creaked under his feet, and increased his paranoia. After Sammy had collapsed this morning his feeling of threats all around had increased tenfold.

He was still shaky from that. He had never been more scared in his life. He had been sure he had actually lost Sam, to a bloody vision of all things. He shook his head.

The squeaky floorboard was all the warning he got. He turned slowly, not really expecting anything. He flew into the wall, thankfully not hitting anything on the way down.

The demon picked him up by the jacket before he could do the same himself. Dean looked down into its face, with the horrid teeth and strangely feminine glinting eyes. It snarled triumphantly in his face.

However Dean Winchester was no easy prey. And he never went without a weapon. Even if it was just a knife.

Dean grabbed that knife now and plunged it into the demon's side. He dropped, a startling distance, to fall on his side. He kicked out at its knee, and his foot connected. It growled again, before backing away, knife sticking out of its side. Dean struggled to his feet in a position of defensive readiness.

The demon turned and ran, disappearing quickly. Dean stood up straight, flabbergasted.

"This has officially been the strangest, stupidest day ever," he muttered to himself, collecting his dropped tools and limping back to the Impala.

* * *

Sam lifted the glass and finished off his beer. He was waiting for Dean in the town bar, and had been doing so for half an hour. It was early in the evening. Sam had been using the time to research the town, to no avail.

"Decided trespassing wasn't the best option, huh?" a familiar voice asked. Sam turned on the stool, closing the laptop slightly.

"Sasha, right?" She nodded. "No, my partner's gone out to check some of the other sites." He frowned. She looked terrible. All white, and tired. He supposed he had the same look though.

"Uh huh." Sasha ignored his frown. "Want another?" She took his glass.

"Yeah, thanks." He turned back to the computer but wasn't really paying attention to the screen. He had figured it out. That feeling, the one he had felt in the house, was stronger. Sasha was a psychic. Or would be one day.

"Here you go." Sasha turned to leave straight away.

"Sasha?" She stopped and turned back. "What do you know about James Archer?"

"Why?" she sounded suspicious.

Sam shrugged and swivelled on the stool. "I'm just trying to find out people's opinions on him. Did you know him?"

She appeared to struggle with something. "Yeah, he was my English teacher, before he was arrested. It was his first year, so no one really knew him. He came from Chicago."

Sam frowned. "How old are you?" he asked. He hadn't thought she was still in school. She was working in a pub, serving alcohol, which he was pretty sure was illegal for a school kid.

"What does that have to do with Mr Archer?" she asked, frowning herself.

"Nothing," Sam admitted. "I just... never mind."

She sighed. "I'm seventeen. I don't get paid for helping out here, and Mr Murdoch knows and all.

Sam nodded. "That's fine. I'm not here about that. Did you know Archer outside of school?"

She glared, misinterpreting the question. "What's that supposed to mean?" Sam turned red.

"God, no, I didn't mean anything like that. I -." He didn't know how to manoeuvre her into admitting she was psychic; that was more Dean's area of expertise. He decided to ask bluntly. "You're psychic, right? One of Archer's students?"

Her jaw dropped. "How did you...? No, Mr Archer never taught me _that_?" Her eyes widened. "You are too, aren't you?"

Sam looked around before nodding. "Are you really police?" was the next question.

Before Sam could answer, bells at the door chimed. They both looked to see Dean limping in. To his utmost surprise, Sasha frowned.

"I have to go," she muttered, leaving quickly. Sam stared after her, startled.

"What happened to you?" he asked, turning back to Dean, who had already taken a drink from Sam's beer.

"Had a little run in with our friendly demon, which, as it turns out, isn't so friendly." He nodded at Sasha. "What was that about?"

Sam shrugged. "Don't know. I was talking to her, and then she left in a big hurry. But I did find out, she's a psychic too."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Okay. How many are there in this place?"

"Don't know," Sam repeated. "But Archer's right, it's probably why the demon came here. It was attracted to all that power."

Dean nodded. "Makes sense. So why have you been having dreams about it? Which you forgot to mention by the way," he pointed out.

Sam sighed. "I'm not having dreams about it. At least, I don't know that I am. I can't remember them. I didn't lie."

Dean scowled but ignored that part. "But you started having them when this demon moved here. And I know what you think about coincidences."

_

* * *

_

He stood in a corner, watching the door of the office. He could feel a smile on his face, expectant. He waited.

_Finally, finally the door opened and the man walked in. He snarled quietly. The man - he recognised him as Ed Harper now - didn't hear, just crossed to the desk and picked up his keys. _

_He moved from the corner, keeping to shadow. Harper noticed his movements though. His would-be-victim stopped, turning white and forming a scream. With a louder snarl, he darted in, grabbing Harper by the throat and cutting off the yell. _

_The wind started up, moving nothing but Harper's hair. He tilted his head slightly, and the door slammed shut. Harper's eyes bulged, his face slowly turning purple from lack of air._

_Gathering his strength, he threw Harper into the desk. Rolling his shoulders, he strode to the moaning body and turned it over. Harper began to scream again, or tried to. He drew his claws back and dug them into his victim's throat. The blood spurted out, and he closed his eyes in ecstasy. The warm liquid dripped down his eyelids, and his cheeks. He drew his arm back again and…_

… With a thud he hit the floor, which woke Sam with a start. He took a shuddering breath and felt his body echo. He could still feel the blood sliding down his face. He stood, feeling angry, and wiped his face with his hand. He couldn't see anything in the dark.

"Sammy?" Dean muttered sleepily from his bed. "Whachoo fall outta bed for?"

Sam didn't answer, just went to the bathroom. He heard Dean fall back asleep.

He closed the door and turned the light on. In the mirror he checked his face. Nothing unusual, but that only served to further heat his anger. Despite the lack of it, he could still feel the blood. Why did he have to have these fucking premonitions? He leaned against the sink, quivering. He hated them. All he wanted was to be normal, but what chance of that did he have when he was psychic boy, dreaming of the past and seeing the future.

He had punched the mirror before he realized it. Finally, he could feel real blood, dripping down his hand. It helped the intense rage he was feeling. He prepared to punch it again.

Dean woke for the second time in about five minutes. For a moment he wasn't sure what had woken him. He was sure it had been someone punching something very solid.

He jerked to a sitting position, and on seeing Sam's bed empty, stumbled to his feet. The light was on in the bathroom. He walked over and opened the door, his eyes not fully open.

The sight in the bathroom woke him. There was Sammy, face tight with rage and frustration, fist bloody, looking into the shattered mirror with hatred and unshed tears.

"Sam!" He lunged forward, pulling his little brother away from the sink. "What the hell are you doing?"

Sam pulled his bloodied fist back, as if to strike something or someone. Then he seemed to collapse; his body slumped, and he looked incredibly tired. His hand flopped down.

"I'm just sick of it Dean," he muttered. "Fucking sick of it."

Dean knew it was serious now. His brother hardly ever swore. He mentally sighed in anticipation of one of those 'chick-flick' moments. He steered Sam over to the toilet seat and made him sit.

"Stay," he ordered, quickly going out to the bedroom to get the first aid. When he came back Sam had his head in his hands.

"Another nightmare?" he asked, squatting next to the toilet. Sam nodded, inspecting his hand as if seeing the blood for the first time. He winced as Dean started wiping the blood away.

"Like the one last night, 'cept it was another person, another murder."

"Who?" Dean asked, getting out a gauze pad and cutting it in half. Sam had actually done some bad superficial damage.

"The third one, Harper, in his office." Sammy sounded exhausted.

"Did you see the demon this time?" He began wrapping a bandage around the hand and pad.

Sam closed his eyes, squeezing something back. It wasn't tears lighting his eyes, but memories, Dean realized. "I was the damn demon, Dean," he muttered, keeping his eyes closed.

Dean couldn't help it. His hand paused, and he heard Sam sigh. "Come again?"

"The demon," his little brother snarled, a little angry. And hurt. "I was that... bitch as it mutilated Harper. Just as I - it mutilated the woman, Walker. That's why I couldn't see it. I was it. I can still feel it."

Sammy ended in a whisper. Dean didn't want to say anything, in case he hurt Sam more with his words. This was one of those incredibly huge things that he just couldn't deal with, but had to nonetheless. "Are you -?" he began hopefully. Sam cut him off.

"We are not leaving Dean. This thing'll just keep on killing 'til we finish it."

"Then we have to find it. Quick." Before it kills you, Dean left out. He needed to say more, but lost the moment in the next second.

From far away they heard an echoing gun shot.

* * *

The light of the police car were flashing out the front of the pleasant looking house. It hadn't taken Dean and Sam long to find it: they had followed the steady stream of people.

Dean followed Sam as they got out the car, pushing through the gathered crowd. He was still reeling from the shock of Sam's confession and the frustration of not getting a chance to talk to his baby brother about it. The fact that Sam was having dreams of murdering people was disturbing. The idea was frightening.

"What happened?" Dean heard Sam ask. It pulled him back from his mind and he noticed Brian for the first time.

"Terrible. Shot himself." The cop seemed unable to speak properly.

"Who was he?" Sam asked quietly. Respectfully. Dean was amazed that there was nothing in his voice to suggest he had dreams of ripping people apart.

"Name was Daniel O'Conner. No one knows why. At least, no one will." He looked around furtively and pulled out an envelope. "I found this. It says he killed Ed Harper. I called you because I know no one in this town is responsible for this, so it's either forgery or Daniel had no idea."

Sam took it, nodding. They understood as they watched Brian walk away to the car, where a pregnant woman sat sobbing. Dean and Sam turned away.

"That must have been the Daniel that Archer mentioned. So now we know for sure that this thing, this demon is using psychics," Sam said quietly. They both leaned against the Impala, facing the house.

Dean nodded, feeling a surge of anxiety. "And he must have been the one the demon used to kill Harper. We have to find out who Louise is. If you dream again, it means she is. And we don't want another suicide."

Sam nodded in agreement. "We'll go see Archer in the morning. And we should talk to Claire, tell her about the demon."

"Archer first kiddo," Dean confirmed. "Claire can't do much at the station. Archer can help us."

* * *

Thanks for reading! casus17


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I really don't own them.

**Warning:** Teensy bit of language. Nothing too serious, I don't think.

**Author's Note:** Ok, so, I lied. I am posting today. I found a spare ten minutes. Yippee! More good news: family decided not to move for another week due to the fact that the plasterer can't plaster the walls with stuff in the house, and my parent's room only just got the concrete poured this morning. So, this story will be finished by the time we move. Hurray says everyone! He he. Enjoy.

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Chapter 6: Unexpected

"Someone doesn't like us," Dean muttered under his breath, hanging up his cell phone. With a sigh he put the phone on the table next to the bed, and sat up, scrubbing his eyes.

It was five in the morning, maybe an hour since they had arrived back at the motel. Sam was actually sleeping. And now he had to wake his kid brother up.

"Sammy, get up."

"Uh huh." Sam went straight back to sleep.

"Sam!" No answer this time.

Giving an exasperated groan Dean threw his pillow at the younger Winchester.

Finally Sam sat up, quickly and angrily. "Quit it, Dean." He threw the pillow back, which Dean caught, and then lay down again.

"Archer's dead."

Sam sat back up, all anger gone. "What?"

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed. "He killed himself. The cops got back and found him swinging."

Sam groaned, and stood up. "Someone doesn't like us," he muttered under his breath. Dean couldn't help but chuckle at the repetition of his own words, for which Sam gave him a glare.

"This isn't funny Dean. In case you've forgotten, we needed to talk to him."

Dean rolled his eyes where Sammy couldn't see, though he did regret the man's death too. "We should still be able to find out what we need. We just search his house."

Five minutes later the Impala was headed for the police station.

* * *

"We didn't think he was a danger, not to himself," Brian was explaining. The three of them stood over Archer's corpse, uncomfortably ignoring the thin bruise around the man's neck.

There was silence for a moment. "So what do you think it is?" Brian asked quietly. Sam heard Dean sigh.

"It's a demon," his older brother began. "We don't know much. And we're not really sure how we're gonna get it. But Archer, O'Conner and Claire are all innocent. The demon possesses people. It made the..." He wasn't really sure what to call the vessels; that word sounded so harsh. "... possessees kill those people."

"So what do you need to do to kill this bastard?"

Dean shrugged. "We have to find out exactly what it is. We were hoping Archer could help us. Maybe he still will. Can I look through his stuff?"

Brian nodded. "Anything. We need this sorted out quick. Else the whole town'll..." He trailed off, shaking his head. All three left the room.

"Brian?" Sam asked. "Can I speak to Claire again?" He felt he had to do it. She didn't deserve death. He had to speak to her.

* * *

He let himself into Claire's new cell. It was bare of anything, with no protruding objects. Sam knew the video camera was always on her, and someone was always watching her or the screen. Claire's uncle wouldn't allow her to suffer Archer's fate.

"Detective," she said when he walked in. She sat up on the bed, her face red and blotchy. She had been crying again. Sobbing more like it. Sam could understand. It was the equivalent of his little punching episode the night before.

"Call me Sam, Claire." He leaned against the wall. How would he go about this?

"Did you hear about Archer?" he asked her softly. Even with that, the woman started trembling.

"I know about it," she confirmed in a weak voice. "I heard him, kicking and -." She swallowed. Sam frowned. There was no way she could have heard Archer. He certainly hadn't kicked anything, not hanging in the middle of the room.

"Are you sure?" he asked. She nodded and he sighed.

"You didn't hear him Claire. You felt it, because of your connection."

Her eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled sadly. "So you do know."

"Know what?" Sam asked, though he actually knew very well.

"I was wondering if you felt it. I didn't know you knew of your gift when I spoke to you before. But since you know of mine, you must."

"Archer told me you were his student," he began. Claire interrupted him.

"But he wouldn't have told you about that unless you knew about him. Denying your ability will only making it painful."

Sam hid a scowl. He didn't deny his visions. He just didn't want them.

"What did you come here for?" she asked, her face a little clearer, a little happier after talking to him. Just a little, but it was a start. Hopefully he could help some more.

"You needed to know, you didn't kill Kylie Walker."

Her face fell. "Yes I did. I dreamed it. It was so real." She ended in a whisper and pulled her knees up to hug them. Sam nodded.

"I know what you mean," he agreed, walking forward to sit on the bed beside her. "But..." How to tell her.

"Claire, being psychic, what do you believe in?"

She seemed a little shocked. "I don't know. Ghosts, spirits, that sort of thing."

He smiled warmly. "That's a start. But there's far worse, and far better out there. Can I tell you a secret? You can't tell anyone." She nodded, a little unsure. But she wouldn't believe him any other way.

"My partner and I... we're not really police. He's actually my brother, and we... we hunt down evil. The supernatural."

Her jaw dropped, but she nodded. "I thought something was off. So that's why you're here. There's something evil in this town."

Sam nodded. "Yep. And that's what's been killing these people. That's what killed Kylie Walker."

She shook her head. "So why'd I dream about it?"

"That's the thing," Sam said slowly. "It's a demon, and it possesses people. Using their body, it kills people."

"So I did kill Mrs Walker."

"No!" His emphatic reaction made her sit back. "No. The demon killed Mrs Walker, not you. Believe that, and you'll be right."

* * *

Archer's things made up a small pile, just what he had had on him when the demon had possessed him. The keys would be helpful, save them picking locks. He shook out the shirt, ignoring the blood stains splattered on it.

An envelope fell out. Curious, Dean dropped the shirt and picked up the envelope. It was addressed to him. Not the Detective him. 'Dean Winchester' was written on the front. Archer had written him a letter, obviously before Dean had even known he was coming himself. Or had he? Could Archer have known he was going to be possessed? The man would have done something to stop himself killing Lucy Taylor, surely. So he had written this later. How had it gotten here?

"Find anything?" He suddenly heard Sam ask. Dean spun, hiding the shock. His younger brother had an unfortunate habit of sneaking up on him.

"Keys," he grinned, sliding the envelope inconspicuously into his back pocket. "We can get into Archer's house easy."

Sam nodded. "You go to Archer's house. I'll go to the library, see if that has more accurate reports on this town."

* * *

Dean didn't go directly to Archer's house. First he knocked on the neighbour's doors, for two reasons. One, he wanted a more detailed idea of what the psychic had been like. And two, they wouldn't go calling the cops on him.

Archer's house was normal. Nothing like what Dean had expected. Then again, Dean had based his assumptions on movies and stereotypes. And of course Sammy wasn't all gloom, incense and tarot cards. Well, not all incense and tarot cards anyway.

The rooms on the first floor had nothing. In fact they were almost bare - tidy and unlived in.

The second floor was a different story. Traces of the psychic came out; there were symbols for peace and protection everywhere. Dean's jaw dropped as he walked slowly through the upper level. There were symbols of protection from every corner of the globe. Archer had been paranoid.

Of course it was the last room he checked that was the room he wanted. The room at the end of the second story corridor had a different feel about it. As soon as he entered, Dean felt peaceful, and some of his tiredness washed away.

"I gotta get Sammy into this room," Dean muttered as he started going through draws of the old, rustic set against the far wall. This had to be the room Archer did his stuff in. Traces of the incense and tarot cards could be seen around the room.

The draws proved to be exactly what he needed. Each draw held a file about one person. After finding O'Conner's and Claire's in one draw, he realized they had to be files of Archer's students. He recognised the writing and remembered the envelope still in his pocket. After writing down the names in the files he opened the envelope. Archer's writing met his eyes.

_Dean Winchester._

_Thank you for coming to our town. Really this town will need you more when you have read this letter. But it may cost you more than you know. I can't explain further, but be very careful. Don't trust any of my students, because any of them could be possessed by this demon._

_The demon. It is no coincidence it came here, where there are so many budding psychics. But again, be careful. It has ulterior motives, and I think you and your brother are one of them. The connection between psychics is strong, more so when the psychic is strong. Sam isn't having dreams of the demon for no reason, and the fact that he didn't remember them frightens me._

_Dean, Sam needs to accept his ability. More than that, he has to submit to it, allow it to grow inside of him. Only then can he survive his gift. Make him believe it is a gift. And watch him carefully. He is a psychic like the rest of us. _

_Again, thank you for coming. James Archer._

Dean replaced the paper in his pocket, fingers trembling. Archer had known a lot. And had alluded to more. Hoping he had finished in the room he practically ran from the house. Outside he gave into urge and dialled Sam's number. The irrational fear kept on building.

* * *

The library was hot and stuffy. The heating must have been on as high as it could be, and the frail librarians still looked like they were cold. Sam couldn't stop yawning. And his eyelids were fluttering.

He yawned, clicking to look at a different page on the computer. The library's archives agreed with his research. There was nothing. It looked like the demon had come just for the psychics.

Sam yawned again. He rubbed his eyes, trying to concentrate. It didn't help that he had had minimum sleep. Maybe three hours the night before, and absolutely none the night before that. Half an hour unconscious didn't count as sleep. He yawned, realizing he had read the same sentence four or five times. He was going back for a... yawn... sixth...

_The cave was cold. Sam, feeling detached, couldn't actually feel it, but the little boy huddling in the corner shook. Surprisingly Sam didn't think it was from fear of the tall, hideous creature sharing the cave that the boy shook. Just the cold, because the boy only had shorts and a t-shirt on. _

_Before Sam could contemplate on the familiarity resonating from the huddling boy, someone stepped into his dream. Or rather, he became aware of the person. He still felt strangely detached, watching the cave as if through a window._

_The creature, which Sam recognised as a demon, soon became aware of the third being. It turned and chuckled to see a shotgun pointed at it._

_"You're slow, human," it snarled around curved teeth. "Any longer and I would have had to kill the boy." The shotgun shook. _

_"Give him back."_

_From his position of detachment, Sam gasped. That was his father's voice, strong and confident. Was he hurt? Why did the gun shake? John Winchester didn't move from the shadows. _

_The demon laughed, and with a crook of his finger and some powerful telekinetic abilities, pulled the boy to him._

_Clutching the boy - who could only have been five or six - tight, the demon traced a black fingernail down the white cheek of its captive._

_"This little thing, John? He's just a mite. Now, the other one... he could really be something."_

_"Don't you dare speak about them!" John hissed. His voice actually broke. Sam was shocked. And then John fired, hitting the demon a foot above the kid's head. But it wasn't the normal rock salt or silver bullet this time. No, this time the round burst into flames when it hit, smothering the demon with fire as the boy rolled away, a little singed. The demon began shrieking as –_

A vibration woke Sam with a start. He sat up, lifting his cheek off the keyboard, and struggled to get his phone out.

"Hello?" he asked sleepily.

"Sam, you okay?" It was Dean, and he sounded relieved for some reason.

"Fine. Fell asleep at the computer, that's all." He rubbed his cheek. He could feel the imprints of keys on it. "Find anything at Archer's house?"

"I got his list of psychics. There were some pretty cool protection spells, and a freaky room, but not much else. You?" The older Winchester's voice had gone back to normal quickly.

"Nothing." Sam replied, stifling a yawn. "I'll meet you back at the motel in about twenty. I'll have a little bit more of a look."

He put his phone on the table and yawned again, turning to the computer screen. What had that been? Why was he dreaming of his dad? He shook his head, trying to clear the apparent jumble of psychic thoughts in his head.

"People usually type with their fingers, not their cheeks," a familiar voice remarked behind him. Sam felt too tired to even jump, though he hadn't heard Sasha creep up on him. He turned, meeting her half way as she walked round to face him.

"Hi Sasha. How are you?"

"Better than you, I think," she cringed. "You look like crap."

"Thanks," he replied dryly. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "Just looking for a book I wanted, but it's not in. What about you?"

"Looking into your town's history, but I can't explain much to you. I have to go meet my partner."

She nodded and moved to the side. He smiled and stood, just catching the motion of chewing her bottom lip curiously.

"What is it?" he asked, turning to face her. She let go of her bottom lip.

"Nothing. It's just... you look really familiar, like someone I knew a long time ago. But it's just my imagination.

Sam was curious now, but he had to go back to the motel. "If that's all, I really have to go."

She smiled. "I'm going anyway. I'll walk with."

He smiled back, a little startled. "Okay." No need to ask, it was all right.

They were silent for a few minutes, until they got out of the library. Then Sasha spoke up.

"You are so not State Police." She sounded as if she had given it a lot of thought. Sam nodded heavily.

"True. But we are here to stop the murders."

"I know. I'm psychic remember," she joked. Sam chuckled as they turned a corner.

"How could I forget?"

"So, got any leads?" Sasha asked.

"Yep," was his answer. She scowled.

"Not gonna tell me anything?" She sounded a little disappointed.

"What do you think about it?" he asked as an answer. The scowl dropped and he shrugged. They reached the end of the street and stopped.

"I think..." She bit her lip again. "Promise not to laugh? I think it's not human." She said it in a rush and shivered suddenly, her face going a little pale. "Sometimes I can feel it in the town. Evil, like a cancer, or something. And it's hungry, like it's been... dead, and only just come back." She shivered again, and gave him a sharp look. "You're not laughing."

He was too shocked to do so. She felt all that? She had to be pretty strong then. He realized she wanted an answer.

"I think you're close. Do you really feel all that?"

She half-nodded, and then stopped. "I dream too. I can't see anything except this blackness. It swallows everything. It freaks me out." She crossed her arms. "I'm not in denial enough to think my dreams mean nothing. Psychics - you and me - don't have dreams for no reason."

He nodded, thinking back to his dream in the library. Sasha was right, but what had that meant? What did his dad have to do with it?

Sasha was turning to go. On impulse, he called out one last question. "Sasha, who did I remind you of?"

She turned, smiling sadly. "Just a woman I used to know. It's funny how the past hits you out of nowhere. Her name was Mary. Mary Winchester."

* * *

Oooooooooo! What a shock. Even I didn't see that one coming. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Wish I do. Wishes don't come true. Mostly.

**Warning:** No naughty words. Little bit of gross stuff, but if you blink, you'll miss it. Sorry if it gets a bit confusing. You'll understand when you reach it.

**Author's Note:** Sorry there was no update yesterday. I had three hours sleep the night before, the AFL grannie was on and I had work to do at the new house. I can tell you, I was wrecked. Oh, and sorry this chapter's a little short.

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Chapter 7: Realizations

Dean was on the laptop when Sammy came in, shaking and pale. He watched in amazement as his responsible brother crossed the room to where a table held a bottle of vodka that Dean had been surprised to find came with the room. His jaw dropped when his _sensible little brother_ chose to forgo a glass and scull a quarter of the bottle.

"Who the hell are you and what have you done with my brother?" Dean asked, once he could speak. Sammy, giving a cough, dropped into the armchair, still holding the bottle.

"Sasha reckons she knew Mum." It was said tightly and painfully. Dean's jaw dropped again.

"That's impossible," he spluttered. "Mum died before she was even born."

"I know." He put his head in his empty hand, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired. He thought he was coming down with something. He had had plenty of sleepless nights before - in his first exams at college he had had to thrive off it. But he was feeling drained.

"What did she say?" Dean asked, coming over and taking the bottle. He ignored the afternoon sun, his empty stomach and his usual disgust for vodka, and took a mouthful.

"I was in the library, just getting off the phone to you." He had still been reeling from the dream. "She came over, we talked a bit. Then she said I looked like someone she knew. Later I asked who, and she said a woman named Mary Winchester."

Sam took the bottle back and swallowed another mouthful.

"It... it could have been someone else. Another Mary..." His throat seized up before he could complete her name. Sam just shook his head. There was silence for a few minutes.

She couldn't have known their mum. It was impossible. Wasn't it? Was it? After all they had seen in their lives, was anything impossible? The thoughts ran through the heads of both brothers.

Finally Dean broke the silence. They couldn't dwell on it - there were more pressing matters. A demon possessing people for instance. And he hated thinking about the death of his mother. It was a constant enough hurt as it was.

"Did you find anything at the library?" the older Winchester asked.

"Uh, no," Sam answered sheepishly. "I kinda fell asleep, and dreamed about Dad, of all people."

"Was it a premonition?" Dean asked cautiously.

Sam frowned. "I don't think so. I mean, it wasn't normal. But I have no idea why I had it. As far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with this town, but even Sasha told me I don't have dreams for no reason." He shook his head ruefully.

Dean took a swig of vodka. "What was the dream?" he asked Sammy, who shrugged.

"A little boy in a cave with a demon. Dad came in - he must've been injured because the gun shook. And he killed it. With a fire ball, or something. I'd never seen anything like it."

"You wouldn't've," Dean muttered, feeling his stomach roll. "He only used it that once."

Sam frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Cause that little boy was me. That was twenty years ago but. One of Dad's first hunts. His first demon. It was a nasty bastard. You're having dreams of the past again." He shuddered, remembering the cold and the fear. It hadn't actually done anything to him. At least physically. "It was... psychic, I 'spose. It could move things, like Max could. And it could read minds. It read mine." He shrugged.

"It was psychic?" Sammy had gone still. Dean nodded, wondering what brainwave his little brother had had.

Sam didn't chose to tell however, just stood (a little unsteadily) and moved to the bed. He picked up John's journal and started turning pages. Quickly.

"Sammy? Sam! What is it?" He placed the bottle on the carpet and followed his little brother. Who sat suddenly, having decided on a page.

"I think it's the same demon," Sam said, passing the journal.

"But Dad killed it. It burned to death. I watched."

"I know. But it was psychic, very psychic. Very powerful." He indicated the page. "And like you said, Dad was a rookie then. The body wasn't completely destroyed. And it was - is psychic. Psychics have been its targets, its possessions. It explains my dream in the library, cause Archer said strong psychics can share things, like dreams I suppose. And it partly explains why I've been having the other dreams, for the same kinda reason."

"I don't know," Dean began.

"I do. It even looks similar to when I was Lucy Taylor. It must be able to transform the people it possesses."

Dean still wasn't sure. Sam saw the look on his face.

"Look, Dean. Psychics, according to Missouri, can jump from their bodies. Most only do it in their sleep. It's part of the reason for dreams, or visions, because they jump to another plain. You know like astral projection."

"You've been speaking to Missouri?"

"That's not the point. The point is, a very, very powerful psychic, like a demon psychic, can theoretically jump its body while awake, and walk in, I dunno, spirit form. Actually live and breathe like that, like an extended, more powerful astral projection. I think, when Dad killed it, or tried to kill it, the demon jumped ship. Only with its body badly injured, it didn't have anywhere to go, so it stayed out."

It was starting to make surprising sense. "So you think Dad didn't kill it? That it's the spirit of that demon?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Why else did I have _that_ dream?"

"So how do we kill it?"

"Like any other spirit I guess. Salt and burn the body."

Dean sighed. It was possible. Still farfetched. He walked to the bottle and took another swig. It was possible.

* * *

By early evening they had both realized just how hard finding the demon's body was going to be. They had left numerous messages with John, pored over his journal and even searched the map for likely places. Dean was quickly heading to the theory of impossibility. Meanwhile he watched Sam grow frustrated, rubbing his eyes and suppressing yawns. Finally Dean couldn't take it anymore.

"Sam! Go to sleep before your jaw gets stuck."

Sam just glared at his older brother, a little bleary-eyed. It only furthered Dean's annoyance and worry. Annoyance that Sam wouldn't sleep and worry because he had never seen his kid brother so clearly exhausted. At least, on the outside. Funnily enough Sam still moved easily. And he didn't take Dean's advice, just continued to look through the journal.

Ten silent minutes later Dean closed the laptop with an exasperated groan.

"I'm going out for food. Pizza okay?" He barely waited for Sam's nod before shutting the door.

* * *

Sam waited until he heard the Impala drive off before leaning back against the wall and letting the facade of energy drop. Hell, he was tired. He had become even more tired in the past two hours, pretending not to be tired while trying to figure where the demon's body was. It had turned out to be useless anyway. Dean had seen through the act, and the body was still lost. It had to be nearby.

He yawned and stood. He needed to use the bathroom desperately, but had been unsure as to whether he could make it. Now Dean was gone he stumbled over.

Once finished he crossed to the table, intent on opening the computer. He never made it.

Blinding pain erupted in his head, and he fell to his knees, groaning.

"No!" he heard himself cry, but the pain only increased until he had to close his eyes, trying to squint the pain away. The childish gesture didn't work.

He opened his eyes in time to see Dean flying through the night air. "No!" he screamed, trying in vain to struggle to his feet before realizing that what he was seeing couldn't –

_- The demon picked Dean up, digging claws into his brother's shoulder. Dean screamed out in pain, a scream that echoed as he flew -_

- be real. It was a vision. He could feel the carpet, the enclosed space. Dean was in a forest of some kind. This -

_- through the air, landing hard on the ground. Dean didn't -_

- was a premonition. Of his brother being attacked by the demon. He had to see this, had to -

_- have time to recover. The demon was straddling Dean, laying punch after punch into the into the older Winchester, who was -_

- see how to save his brother. Sam pushed through the pain desperately -

_- desperately trying, and failing, to stop the rain of fists. But he couldn't, couldn't stop them and they kept on coming until Dean was just a mess of blood and pulp -_

- trying to see how to stop the demon from killing Dean. Where were they, how to get there. How to save -

_- Dean looked up, his eyes grieving and hurt. He mouthed something before the demon struck one last time -_

The pain suddenly disappeared and the relief made Sam fall on his side, gasping and trying to shut away the tears of pain. He felt weak, shaky and pale, ten times worse than he had before the vision. But he couldn't stop now. The demon was going to kill Dean.

He searched, trembling, for five minutes before he realized he had left his cell phone at the library. Feeling desperate, and not really thinking, he left the room. He had to find Dean.

* * *

Dean had just parked the car back in front of the motel room when he felt his phone ring. It was Sam.

"Sammy," he chuckled, getting out. "I'm just coming -." A girl's voice cut him off.

"Dean?" He recognised that voice. Sasha. "It's Sam. Something's wrong. He... he just collapsed. I think it's his head. He keeps clutching at it and screaming." Sasha sounded scared.

"It's okay Sasha," he comforted, feeling the anxiety building up inside. He tried to keep his voice calm while inside his stomach heaved. If something was wrong with Sam... "Tell me where you are."

"We're at the park. Sam just showed up and asked me to show it to him and -." Dean cut her off.

"Just stay with him Sasha. I'll be right there."

He hung up and got back in the Impala. The engine roared to life.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Review, it's the only time I'll ask (do it as a birthday pressie, cause it's my eighteenth tomorrow. Yippee! For me).


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Anyone want to lend me a few million dollars so I can buy them?

**Warning:** Ah, a few naughty words, but nothing too bad. He he.

**Author's Note:** Soooo, thanks everyone for all my reviews. Do you know how awesome you all are? Best birthday present I could have got! I hope you all like this next chapter. And if anything doesn't sound plausible, just pretend it is. Please? All this psychic stuff is kind of foggy for me, as in what is truth, and what is myth, so I wrote what sounded cool, lol.

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Chapter 8: Hook, Line and Sinker

When Sam finally arrived at the pizza shop it was to find Dean had already left. He wanted to hit something. He hadn't been thinking, he shouldn't have left. Dean was in trouble, and he had had to go and do... He could have kicked himself. But at the same he hoped Dean was back at the motel.

He wasn't. Sam didn't bother checking the room; he knew if the Impala wasn't there then neither was his brother.

He headed to the front office. The light was beginning to fail.

"Hey, have you seen my partner in the past ten minutes?" he asked the man behind the desk. The receptionist nodded.

"Yeah, he was here five minutes ago. He got a phone call and left straight away."

Sam's stomach dropped. "Can I use your phone?" he asked. The man nodded at the one on the counter.

"Sure, we'll put the bill on your room."

Sam thanked the man and dialled Dean's number. There was no answer. Practically slamming the phone back down he smiled at the man and left. He had to find Dean. Maybe nothing had happened yet. No, not yet. So why wasn't Dean picking up. Something was up. But how was he meant to find Dean? How could he have left his phone in the library? Stupid, stupid. How to find Dean?

He stopped, almost not daring to hope. Maybe. Did he remember all of Missouri's words? He hoped so. Taking off at a run, he made his way to Archer's house, Dean's words in his mind.

_There were some pretty cool protection spells, and a freaky room..._

* * *

It was just dark as Dean turned the engine off. The park was still and a little creepy. Nothing moved, not even the swings. He got out, giving his hand gun a reassuring touch, to make sure it was still there. Where were Sam and Sasha? He got the flashlight out as well.

Knowing it could take him ages to search the whole park he got his phone out and dialled Sam's number.

He heard the ring coming from the maze. He turned the flashlight on and began walking. Somewhere he wondered why no one answered, but his mind was too busy hoping Sam was okay.

He entered the wooden kid's maze. He had to bend a bit, but the flashlight lit it up well. Hardly any shadows.

The ring was getting louder. He would be on it soon. What was that? It sounded like crying. Who would be crying? Unless Sam...

He ran the last couple of turns and his flashlight hit a huddled figure, who appeared to be shaking and sobbing. Dean stopped, shocked.

"Sasha?" His voice echoed, bouncing against the walls.

She looked up. The girl looked terrible, with red puffy eyes and a blotchy face. And the blatant remorse in her eyes hit hard too.

"Sasha, what's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to. He made me." She was still crying, and looked about fifteen.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, confused. Did she mean Sam?

"He's always there, watching, waiting... using me. I didn't want to, I swear, but he wants revenge so badly. He -." She cut off as her body began convulsing. And it suddenly struck Dean. He took a few steps back, hitting his head on the roof.

"Shit," he muttered. _Stupid, stupid_. Sasha looked up, a very different light in her eyes.

"That's right, Dean Winchester. Stupid human." She laughed.

"You're the demon!" he was still trying to back away. The demon, using Sasha's head, nodded.

"In the flesh." The voice was so cold. "Just not my flesh. But I like her. Almost as much... no, I'll save that little bit of juice 'til later."

Dean turned and tried to run, but something grabbed at him. _The air_ grabbed at him. He felt himself turn to face the demon, which looked very triumphant, standing now. Dean let the anger - at himself mostly - flare as he struggled against nothing. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He had let himself be trapped.

And then he flew backwards, hitting his head hard on the wood and falling into darkness.

* * *

Sam came to a stumbling halt outside Archer's house. It was completely dark and he realized he would have to pick the locks. Panting, he made his way to the back door, getting his tools from his pocket. He was glad he always kept them on him. He bent over.

_Under the cow pot._

Sam jumped, spinning. That had been Archer's voice. Heart pounding, he struggled to listen. He could almost hear whispers in the air. If he strained. Cow pot?

He turned back and a pot caught his eye. In the dark it almost looked like a cow. He looked underneath, and sure enough, there was a key there.

"Thanks," he muttered, entering the house.

Turning on the light on did nothing to appease his heavy beating heart. But his... feelings suddenly became stronger. The whispers became louder. He could clearly make out one voice as Archer. There were two, both male. Could the other be O'Conner? At the same time, he could feel something drawing him to a room upstairs. Suddenly knowing he had come to the right place, Sam walked towards the urge.

He didn't walk into the room immediately. He turned the light on and watched nothing. He was scared. He didn't trust his... ability. Didn't like it. But it was the only thing that would save Dean. He had to save Dean.

Sam took one step in. Immediately he felt relieved, peaceful, like all his exhaustion was wiped from him. Breathing deeply, he moved to the centre of the room. He was still scared.

He sat, feeling lonely. Normally he had Dean to help him with this. Not actually this. Never before had he tried to force a vision. Missouri said it was hard, almost impossible. Or had she said it was impossible? He couldn't rightly remember, but he was sure he could do this.

He began to breathe deeply, evenly, counting and focusing on the counting. Slowly, slowly, his heart began to relax, began to beat normally. He breathed in and out and in and out. This room was so... safe. So close to the supernatural. The whispers became louder. He could make them out now; they were no longer whispers caressing his mind.

_Revenge... lust for it... kill it... rip it from its body... not its... revenge._

Sam smiled, at ease. Archer and his friend weren't talking about him. And they were yet to pass. They could be helpful. He took a deep breath.

He fell into the 'psychic state' (as Missouri called it) too quickly to comprehend. Left dazed, his head spun, flying through... his head. Struggling for sanity, he finally saw that black cloud encompassing reality; it drifted over the town, but he could see it in his mind. At the moment, it watched him, watched his ability, hungered for it. He gaped, knowing if it went on for much longer it would consume him. He realized it had already been feeding off of him, like he knew it had eaten away at the other psychics in town. And all their struggles would come to nothing if he couldn't get his mind right. He spun, out of control, struggling for a grip on reality. His grip was failing…

"Got to save Dean!"

The shout echoed around the room and around his mind. And then he felt himself steady. Only then did he open eyes he didn't remember closing.

The room was still there, but it was bathed in a light glow. And now, Archer sat in front of him, and to the right. A man he recognised instinctively as Daniel O'Conner sat to the left. They faced each other, not him. Before Sam could speak up, Archer and O'Conner did, speaking to each other.

"He will be brought to us." The voices of the ghosts were hollow. "Tear him from the body so he can burn in hell's fury. It's our revenge, our justice."

Sam felt himself nodding. He would bring the demon, as soon as he stopped it from killing Dean.

"He must accept his abilities. Only then will he expel his inner demons. He lusts revenge for a father's acts. He lusts power for the future."

Suddenly a wind picked up, whisking the two spirits away as if they were sand. Sam felt his hair ruffle and he closed his eyes.

The wind stopped. Sam opened his eyes to find himself looking down at a pulverised Dean. Looking over him. His older brother mouthed something and this time Sam just made it out.

"Sammy."

And then he zoomed out, taking in the house in the forest, the forest beside the town, the town in the state and out and out and out until blackness enclosed him.

When Sam woke he knew what he had to do.

* * *

When Dean woke he wanted to return to unconsciousness. His head pounded something shocking. Thankfully the room he was in was dark, so light wasn't there to make his headache worse.

He was alone. He knew that before he opened his eyes. And he was tied to a chair. An uncomfortable chair. His butt felt numb. How long had he been in here?

He opened his eyes. It wasn't completely dark. While there were no windows that he could find, light came in from the cracks around the door. His heart pounded away.

First things first; getting out of here. Blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision, he bent to study his bonds. He was tied with rope, which was always good. At least for him. There wasn't any rope in the world that could hold him: he always told himself that. And anyway, the chair was crappy.

He knew sawing through the ropes with the edges of the chair arm would take too long. He winced: the only other plan coming –

A bang sounded out, rattling the house and chair. What was - Bang. Someone was hitting something with as much force as that someone could muster. Bang.

Dean felt a rush of relief. Not all his stress left, but the bang would mask his own crash. He just hoped this would work.

He counted between hits a few times. Then, a second before the next, he kicked out. Or tried to. But he heard the chair creak promisingly. He waited with bated breath.

He kicked out, and the sound of the chair collapsing mixed with the sound of whatever that bang was. Trying not to groan - he had hit concrete - he waited, listening intently, sure that at any minute he would hear footsteps thundering towards him.

They didn't come and he started breathing again. He lifted his leg, bringing his ankle to his still bound hand. He could feel the knife still in there, and he smirked. The bitch of a demon hadn't even bothered to search him.

In five minutes he was standing, massaging his bruised hip. He kept the knife out. Next barrier - the door.

To his dismay he couldn't even find a handle on the rectangular light-edged part of the wall. He wasn't even sure it was a door anymore. He ran his hands all over it and finally kicked out in frustration. The door shook a little but remained closed.

Maybe half an hour later Dean had ran his hands over the rest of the room. He had come up with no way out. Not a crack. Kicking the wall this time, he squatted in a corner, near the door but so he could move behind it when it finally did open. He could wait. To get that son of a bitch of a demon he would have to.

* * *

Sam closed the envelope, shaking his hand again. It had been cramping up the whole time he had been writing the letter. It didn't say much, just what Dean needed to hear.

He replaced the pen in Archer's draw and put the envelope in his jacket pocket. He was pretty sure about what was going to happen.

He left the house, leaving the back door open behind him. The whispers cut off and he suddenly felt very lonely. Shouldering it, he began jogging towards his brother.

* * *

It was maybe ten minutes later when Dean finally heard footsteps approaching his room. A click as something was unlocked and the door swung open.

He blinked against the light and stood silently. He heard the demon walk in, surprised. Dean walked forward quietly as the demon, still in Sasha's body, walked clear of the door. He glared at the back of the head as he prepared to bring the knife hilt down. No one caught him by –

He lifted his head groggily, feeling his body bruising. The wall was nearby, the knife no where to be seen. The bastard had thrown him into the wall, without him even realizing!

Hands picked him up and stood him on his feet. Dean wobbled a bit, leaning against the wall for support. Sasha's eyes stared into his. But they weren't hers, he reminded himself. The ruthless gaze didn't fit the teenager. That was all the demon.

He grunted as a fist smashed into his stomach. Doubled over and on one knee, he couldn't stop the blow to his back that knocked him to the ground, fighting unconsciousness. The demon leaned down and began whispering to him in Sasha's voice.

"It's so nice to see you again, Dean. You've grown boy."

Dean didn't answer. He struggled to move, but couldn't.

"I am sorry. About what I have to do. I don't want to hurt you. But your father has to suffer the consequences. No one tries to kill me and gets away with it." It paused and Dean felt nauseous. Those words sounded so wrong in that voice. "I'm sure your brother will be very... understanding. Hell, he might even enjoy killing his own father. We'll see."

It paused again, cocking its head as if listening. "Ah, here he is now. Night Dean."

_No!_ Dean was screaming inside his head. He wouldn't let the bastard get his baby brother. But, as if ordered, the wretched darkness swallowed him.

* * *

Sam walked slowly, shot gun held out in front of him. The old home was dark, shadowed. His skin crawled. The flashlight barely did anything. The demon could be anywhere. Anyone. Who?

He walked into an open room. A splintered chair caught his eye, but nothing else. He backed out.

"I'm so glad you came, Sam."

Sasha's voice made him jump and turn. She fell into the light of his torch, standing there, smiling. His skin crawled some more.

"Sasha? What are you doing here?" he asked, not lowering the gun. Honestly, she didn't seem to mind all that much. Indeed, she sneered and Sam realized who, no, what she was.

"That's why you were in all the photos," he spat harshly. "Checking out your own dirty handiwork."

She didn't answer, just smiled, and flung her... its arm out. He went flying, crashing into the wall and then the floor. Somewhere he lost the gun.

He rolled over, wincing. Sasha - the demon - was sitting on top of him before he could move. He couldn't believe the strength as he pushed against her - it.

"Cri-," he began, but a backhand to his cheek stopped him. Dazed, he couldn't stop the demon cuffing his hands around something. He shook his head too late and felt it stand.

"Cri-," he tried again. This time it was a kick that stopped him forming the word.

"Don't, Sammy. You'll just make me angry." She began turning away.

"Cristo!" Sasha's body flinched and stumbled, but did little else. This time the kick made him try to double over, gasping for breath.

"You'll learn. Like the man who owned this house. Sickest bastard I ever knew. Loved him. He would pick up women, bring them back here and then tie them to a table in his basement. Then he'd rape them 'til they starved to death. Course, when they found out they walled him up in his own room." She chuckled harshly. "He learned not to trick me real quick. Of course, that was almost fifty years ago, before your precious daddy took my body from me."

The words sounded twice as bad coming from Sasha's mouth. He got to his knees, jangling the cuffs around the pole he was bound about.

"Where's Dean?" he asked, finally having enough breath to talk.

Sasha turned to him, or the demon did. A happy, expectant, triumphant grin was on her face.

"You'll find out soon enough. This is going to be fun."

And then she lunged at him. Well, Sasha only got half way before she fell, unconscious, to the floor. But the spirit collided with him, at chest height. Sam screamed, feeling as if his chest was imploding. The demon was ripping him apart, tearing its way in.

"NO!" he screamed, trying to force the demon out with his mind. For a moment it worked, until the demon redoubled its efforts. Sam's back arched, pulling on the cuffs. The pain was unbearable. He tried to fight, but it was too late...

The pain left as Sam's body collapsed. The demon-spirit, inside Sam, sunk in, suppressing his captive until Sam was a mere speck struggling inside the mind. Laughter bubbled from Sam's lips. Finally.

* * *

Thanks heaps for reading. Only a few more chapters left, so hang in there.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I wish…

**Warning:** The language… again. Um, nothing else that needs to be worried about.

**Author's Note:** Bleeding hell, everyone's so nice. Do you know how awesome that is? Really awesome! Thanks heaps for getting here. Seriously, not long to go now. Again, just pretend anything not real is real. I'm no psychic, no matter what I claim when I'm selling fundraising chocolates.

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* * *

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Chapter 9: Possessed

This time when Dean woke he was lying down on a cold, hard surface. He heard himself moan. His head pounded with a vengeance. What had happened?

He tried to sit up. He managed to get halfway before he felt cold metal bite into his wrists. He lay back down.

He was fixed to a metal table, he realized. He could just make out the bolts holding the cuffs together, if he lifted his head. The same contraption held his legs.

He groaned with exasperation. He would never live this down when Sammy –

"Oh God, Sammy," he muttered, remembering the demon's words before he had fallen unconscious. Sam was here somewhere. And the demon wanted to possess him. Dean felt himself straining against the bonds. It did no good, but he would keep on trying. He had to help Sam; he would be damned before he let his little brother be possessed.

The door banged open, knocking aside rubble. To Dean's surprise and unthinking relief, in walked his little brother, gun raised. The flashlight passed over his face.

"Dean!" The relief in Sam's voice was palpable, trustworthy. He ran over, letting the gun drop on the table. "Hang on, I'll get you out."

He started working on Dean's left arm, leaning over and holding the torch in his mouth. In the darkness he noticed Sammy's eyes glint. Dean's breath caught and ice clutched his stomach.

"Hey Sammy, what happened to the demon?" He didn't want to believe it, but he hadn't stayed alive this long by being naïve.

Sam removed the torch to speak. "It' Sam, Dean. And it's still in Sasha, I hope. If not, this has plenty of rock salt." He patted the shotgun.

Dean grunted, bending his elbow as his hand came free. The bruises on his back ached as he began moving. Sam started on the other arm.

"How'd you get past the demon?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "What is this, twenty questions? I snuck up on Sasha and hit her on the head." The other hand came free. Dean sat up, wincing at his stiffness. The table had been cold.

"How'd you find me?" He wanted to keep... Sam?... talking until he knew for sure.

"I used my gift," he explained proudly. "I went to Archer's house and used that room."

Dean felt his stomach drop. This wasn't Sam. Not completely. Sam didn't call his ability a gift. And he wasn't damn proud of it. His Sam would have been fumbling over using it. The demon had him.

He barely felt his feet come free, but he swung his legs over the side anyway. He inconspicuously placed his grip over the gun. One more word, just to make sure. But not yet.

He bent and straightened his knees a few times in a show of stretching. Sam leaned over, whispering.

"Ready to get out of here?" he asked. Dean nodded, feeling his heart thumping. He slid off the table, letting Sam pick up the gun. He stood still, letting his brother get forward a few steps.

"CRISTO!" he belted out. His stomach dropped from existence as his little brother, his Sammy, dropped to his knees from the power of Dean's scream.

Dean lunged forward for the gun, putting a hand on it and aiming at Sam - the demon.

The demon stood using Sam's long legs, and turned, smiling. And then, with a shotgun pointed at its chest, it laughed.

"You are clever," it said in Sam's voice. It tore at his insides. "I didn't think you would believe it, or realize. But... ta da!"

"Get out of him!" Dean was surprised at the venom in his own words. He wanted to cry, shake, shoot, anything.

"I don't think so. I like this body. Very... spacious." It chuckled.

"GET OUT!" he screamed, the gun shaking. He couldn't bear this. Not Sammy.

"Or what? You'll shoot me? Go ahead, I won't feel it." It shrugged. "Of course _little Sammy _will. He's in here you know. Screaming. It's actually kind of... weak. Useless."

Dean only just stopped himself from pulling the trigger.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Sam like that." He couldn't stop shaking. The anger and the fear were taking him over.

The demon raised Sam's eyebrows. Then it scowled. "I'm sick of this conversation. And you're annoying me."

It flung Sam's arm out and the gun flew from Dean's hands. He felt a force hit him but it did nothing. The backlash of the gun flying away?

He looked up at the demon. It had gone white, from anger he thought, and Sam's mouth worked wordlessly. Something hadn't happened.

The demon flung out Sam's arm again. And again, Dean felt that impact without moving. The demon growled.

"You'll pay for that, boy," it muttered under its breath. It seemed to pause and Dean looked on, astounded. He would pay for what?

"You will care."

It suddenly dawned on Dean that Sam had stopped the demon from using its powers. And was now distracting it so...

Dean spun and raced to where he knew the gun had landed. The demon reached him first, grabbing Dean by his shirt and swinging him into the air.

As Dean struggled to pick himself up, he noted that the demon still had its strength. Placing that note somewhere in his mind, he ran at the demon, tackling it with force and surprise. He landed on top of Sam, wincing in expectation of having to hit his little brother.

He didn't get a chance. Using its own knowledge, or Sam's, it flipped him, sending him crashing into the table. He groaned, stumbling to a stand. He dropped to his knees again to duck Sam's foot. He tried tackling again. It worked again, only this time he struck out immediately.

"Sorry Sammy," he muttered. Or began to. The demon didn't even flinch, but lashed out with extended nails. Dean grunted as he fell back avoiding the claws. He rolled away and got to his feet.

Sam was still on his hands and knees, groaning. Teeth, like those of the demon when it had kidnapped him, were half out. And going back in. No, coming out. No... He wasn't sure, until he realized Sam was stopping the demon from changing. He took the distraction and aimed a kick at his baby brother.

The demon caught his foot and threw him backwards. Dean fell into the table, knocking the breath from his lungs. His back ached abominably. And, worse, he felt helpless as the demon in Sam came to stand over him, a triumphant grin on its face.

"I was wrong. I will definitely enjoy killing you, human."

A tiny tap on the ground was all the warning he had. He heard it, as did the demon. Both looked towards the noise, just as an object came crashing down on Sam's head.

Dean, still struggling for breath, pushed Sam's unconscious weight off and stood, turning to face a very pale Sasha.

"You just hit my brother," he said, a little shocked. A hurt, annoyed look came over her face.

"I'm so sorry. Next time I'll let him kill you." Sasha chucked the gun to him and he just managed to catch it. She turned and began to leave.

"Sasha, wait. Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She turned back, her bottom lip trembling. He hoped she wouldn't start crying, but who knew what teenage girls would do. Dean turned back to Sam.

"Will it stay inside of him if he's unconscious?" he asked belatedly. It was probably too late if that was a no. But Sasha nodded.

"I think so. I caught the end of your little… tussle. Sam's fighting it, so it won't come out. It'll be afraid that if he does, Sam won't let him back in, no matter what it tries. It won't come out."

Dean gave her a look, checking Sam's pulse. He hadn't expected an answer like that. "How do you know so much?"

She bit her lower lip. "That _thing_ was inside me for four weeks, when it hadn't left me tied to my bed so it could go kill people. I know it as well as it knows me."

Dean nodded, feeling sorry for her. She had been a captive in her own mind. The demon had been using her to get to them. An unwelcome thought sprung to mind.

"I'm guessing you never knew Mary Winchester then," he said quietly. She shook her head.

"Sorry, Dean. I never knew your mum. Everything I've said to you two was a way for it to get at you."

He nodded, suddenly fighting back tears. It had just been a way to tease them, distract them.

"Find some rope, if you can. We need to tie him up, in case he wakes before we can get the demon out," Dean explained. "We need to get the bastard out of Sammy."

She nodded and took. He was left in the silence with his unconscious, possessed brother.

* * *

Inside his own head, Sam laughed madly at the demon controlling his body.

_Told you so!_ the Winchester screamed at the demon. _Dean will get you out and then we'll kill you!_

_You really think so, do you boy,_ the demon snarled back. _You have no chance. I own you now. I own your body. You can't stop me forever._

_The hell I can't,_ Sam spat back. He fell silent.

This was a new experience. Being possessed like this. When he crushed the fear, it was almost interesting. Even what had happened in the asylum was nothing like this. Then he had had some control over his movements, which was why it had caused so much of a problem.

But this was completely new. Something else, in his head, controlling his every movement. And now, though his body was unconscious, his mind was alert. Thankfully.

He didn't have much warning this time. The demon - he didn't know what else to call it while it was inside his head - the demon made a grab for that bundle of psychic powers that _had_ belonged to it. Sam grabbed them just in time, wresting them from the fleeting clutch of the demon. There was a tiny struggle, but Sam retained his hold on them. Then, panting slightly, he snarled at the demon, which began chuckling as it backed off.

_I told you so boy. You can't hold them forever. Each minute you hold them you grow weaker._

_And each second you don't have them you grow weaker, Sam retorted. It goes both ways, you know. That knowing. I can see your thoughts._

The demon actually became angry. Scared, Sam realized.

_You won't last boy. I have no weaknesses. You have plenty._

Sam suppressed the demon's powers further, confident. _You have one weakness. I knew it before you stole my body. And pretty soon Dean will know it too._

There was silence for a moment as the demon fumed. Then,

_What did you do, human!_

* * *

Dean wished Sasha would find some rope quicker. Sam continued to lie there. At times he could hear incoherent mutterings, and would catch small, jerky flailing in the corner of his eye. He hoped the demon wasn't doing anything to his little brother.

There was a loud scream from somewhere in the house. Dean swore. He couldn't leave Sam. If the demon woke up, it could just walk out, in his brother's body.

"Sasha, you okay?" She didn't answer for a moment.

"Yeah," she shouted back. "I just...shit... I think I found... I don't know. Come have a look. Bloody hell."

Dean scowled. "Get me some rope first."

She came back a few minutes later, a length of rope in her hands.

"What was it?" he asked, rolling Sam's body over. Sasha shook her head.

"It was... a body, I think. Burned and black and ruined. Not human though. Definitely not human."

Dean tied the ropes as hard as he could, muttering sorry to his little brother. Standing, he tied the remaining length to the table. He turned to Sasha.

"If you hear him waking, run."

Dean was shocked to have to go upstairs. He hadn't realized he was underground. The room he heard the scream come from was bathed in moonlight. Because of it, he could clearly see the body of the demon.

His heart did a flip. Here it was, the demon's body, the thing they had searched for hours for. And it had only taken Sam to be possessed to find it. But it was the way to kill the demon. Hopefully.

He moved closer. Sasha was right - the sight was disgusting. And it smelled terrible. He put an arm over his nose and moved closer.

He jumped as it moved. Breathed. Gripping the shotgun Dean stepped back, heart slowing steadily. It was still alive. Would burning the body still kill the spirit? Or make it stronger. Either way, he had to get Sam up here.

Back in the room below Sasha was looking pale. Dean took the rope from her.

"Any changes?" he asked gently. She licked her lips.

"He's been whimpering. Like he's in pain." She was strangely hoarse. Dean felt his heart clench, and dropped to one knee beside his brother.

"Cristo," he muttered.

"What?" Sasha asked. But she didn't flinch, or show any sign of possession. He shook himself. He was just paranoid. But then again, he deserved to be when his little brother was possessed by the very thing they had been hunting.

"Nothing. Take this. All you have to do is pull the trigger." He handed her the gun. "Shoot, don't think."

She trembled, but took the gun. Dean rolled Sam over and bent to pick up the possessed Winchester.

"I need you to go first, Sasha. We're going to the room with the body."

"Why?" she asked, standing when he did, Dean grunting from the stress. But he frowned; Sam had lost weight.

"Cause that body has something to do with killing the bastard in Sammy."

Going up the stairs was still hard. He shuffled up them, shutting out the whimpers Sasha had mentioned.

"Just a little longer, Sammy," he muttered at the top of the stairs. He almost wondered who he was trying to convince. He had no idea what to do; he just wasn't going to admit that.

Once back in the room he glanced down at his little brother. And upon seeing the cold eyes of the demon inside Sam staring at him, proceeded to drop his little brother.

Sam landed on the floor with a grunt. Dean backed away, sick of scares for the night. And the night was barely half over, if his internal clock had not been too skewed.

The demon rolled to Sam's feet. Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw something fall from Sam's jacket. The two – three if you counted Sam – of them watched the paper drift to the ground. The demon's eyes bulged, before it lunged for the paper.

Dean lunged at Sam, again shocked by its strength. But he had the use of his arms, while Sam's were behind him. Dean used his balance to push the demon over.

"Sasha, get that paper!"

The girl dived forward, reaching the paper as Dean struggled to keep the demon down. He punched the demon, making it stop struggling. It managed to look up at him with Sammy's puppy dog eyes, making his guilt grow further.

"Dean," it began in Sam's voice. Dean let his anger flare.

"Don't you dare, you sick bastard." The eyes changed immediately back to cold.

"What are you going to do, huh? Hit me? Go ahead, I don't feel it. In fact, it helps me. Sam feels it. Makes him weak. He's in here, conscious and all. It's quite amusing."

"How about I burn your stupid, sorry-ass body!" he screamed, anything to shut the demon up. Panic grew in its eyes, quickly covered. It quickly sneered, but Dean could have sworn some of that panic remained.

"Go ahead. It won't do anything."

"Dean?" Sasha's small voice broke in. "Burning's not a good idea." Her voice sounded shaky.

"Why not?" he asked. Was she in league with the demon? He didn't think so, but he had been wrong before.

"This letter's for you. From Sam."

* * *

Wow, there you go. Two more chapters to go, I think. Have a nice day!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. Sadly. Cause Dean has a nice ars - …. Um, butt, he has a nice butt.

**Warning:** Again, when it changes perspective, it goes back in time a little. Sorry, if that's a little confusing. On the other hand, there's no gore, no language… well, a little language.

**Author's Note:** Okaaaaay, second last chapter peoples. Glad you're liking it!

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Chapter 10: Demon's Purpose

Dean's stomach flipped. Looking about, he found something suitable.

"Sasha, take the rope end and tie it to the bar on the window." When she had done as ordered, Dean stood. The demon followed suit, a glare planted on Sam's face. But it stayed still as Dean backed up.

He took the piece of paper. It was indeed a letter from Sam, only short.

_Dear Dean,_

_If you're reading this it means the demon got me. Killed or possessed, it doesn't matter. What you need to do applies to either._

_Firstly DO NOT BURN THE BODY! The demon didn't die when Dad tried to kill it. Its body is its last link to this world. If you burn it, the demon won't die, but will take a stronger hold on whomever it's possessed. If the body remains the demon can be forced back to it. Once there, it can die, or be killed. Again, do not burn the body unless the demon is in it._

_To help you in this, go to Archer's house. There are a few friends there that can help. It's their justice. Go to that room. You know which one. Take the demon's body with you._

_Lastly, and it's just as hard to write this as say it. I love you. Be safe. And please do this. Goodbye._ _Sam_

Dean forced back tears, but allowed himself to scrunch the letter up. He was shaking, angry and horrified, and terrified.

"You bastard!" he screamed at Sam. At Sam, not the demon. "You knew this would happen! You knew this would happen and you still came!"

Sasha was suddenly there, pushing him back, though he didn't realize he had been moving forward.

"It's okay, Dean. We can still save Sam. We just have to get him to Mr. Archer's house."

He looked at her, dumbfounded. She didn't get it. But he nodded. Sam wanted him to do this, so he would.

"Fine, we go to Archer's house."

What Sasha didn't get was that 'Goodbye', from Sam, meant exactly that. That his brother didn't expect to come out of this alive.

* * *

The drive to Archer's house began in uncomfortable silence. Dean drove though he couldn't help checking the rear view mirror for a look at Sam trussed up and sedated on the back seat. He was glad he had had the stuff, but was desperately wishing he hadn't had to do it. However, after ten minutes of struggle the two of them - Dean and Sasha - hadn't moved the demon more than an inch, while they were sporting various cuts and bruises even with Sam's hands tied. Dean didn't want to know what the drugs had done to Sam's fight with the demon, whose body was curled up in the trunk.

Sasha sat in the passenger seat. She looked pale and tired, but she had refused to go home. She watched her town go past quietly.

It was 12:30, and Dean was sick of the silence.

"So how much do you know about us?" Dean asked Sasha.

"Everything the demon knew. That was one of the problems, it said. The person being possessed could see all its thoughts as much as it could see their's."

"And what do you know about it?" he asked curiously.

"A little. I know it's been hanging around as a spirit since your dad got it. It couldn't exactly go back to its body because the moment the body was inhabited again, the… cocoon, I suppose – it's a tight wrapping of air – would fail and the body would die."

"So what does it want in this town?"

She looked at him, startled. "This town? I can't believe you haven't seen it yet, Dean. This town was nothing, just a means. It was you and Sam all along. This town, the murders, were all just bait. Since your dad destroyed its body, it has wanted revenge. What better way to do that than to kill his family with his family."

It fell into place in Dean's head. "So it planned all along to possess Sam, and make him... kill me and Dad. And that's why Sam's been having its dreams, the ones where it kills, and the one of Dad killing it first," Dean said, putting it altogether in his mind. "But why Sam?"

"Because he's psychic. A very strong psychic. It can't use its powers except in another psychic. I know it had to try hard to bar the dreams from visibility, and that was because it was using me, and I'm not that strong yet. I mean, it couldn't actually stop Sam dreaming, but it could stop him from seeing them. Imagine what it could do in Sam's body. Though I think it underestimated him."

"Why do you say that?" Dean asked, checking the rear view mirror, again.

"Cause Sam's blocked its abilities from it. That's why it can't use them. It's why we're still alive." She shook her head. "He's unbelievable. I've never met someone so strong. Potentially. He's scared of it obviously. But every psychic in town would have felt it when he used his gift to find you."

Dean forced the glare from his face. She had no right to assume anything about his brother. But she hadn't finished. Turning away, she half-muttered, "He's got to accept it. That's why he gets headaches."

Dean let the glare drop. She shouldn't know that.

They pulled up outside Archer's house. It looked ominous against the night sky. Dean didn't get out immediately, but took a few deep, calming breaths.

"It's okay. Sam's strong. He'll get through this." But he caught sight of her letting go of her lip.

"What is it?" he asked. Would his stomach ever stop flipping?

"Nothing." She said it far too quickly

"Tell me, Sasha."

"I just... I know why he's been tired. Ever since Sam got within twenty miles of this town, the demon's been feeding off his energy. Not just his, every psychic in the town. But Sam's tired, so..."

Dean knew the end of her sentence. Sam was physically weak. So his chance of surviving the demon went down.

He swallowed. "We have to do this," he muttered, getting out of the car. Sam didn't know everything; he could be wrong and had been wrong before. He grabbed his brother while Sasha went to the back door, which she found open. At least this way Sam had a chance. He wasn't going to let his brother continue being possessed.

Inside, Dean noticed her rub her arms. "What is it?" he asked, wishing for a free arm so he could use the gun. Just in case. She turned to him, smiling.

"We're not alone."

Dean wondered whether it was Sam's 'friends' she was talking about. He didn't linger on the thoughts too long, but groaned when he saw the stairs and remembered where the room was.

"Almost wish I hadn't told you to eat more now Sammy. Almost," he grunted as he stopped to catch his breath halfway up the stairs. His back was still hurting from being shoved into the metal table more than once.

"Come on Dean. Almost there," Sasha encouraged from the top of the stairs. He reached her a minute later, and stumbled to the room.

He lay Sam's body down on the carpet.

"What now?" he asked, turning to Sasha. She shook her head.

"You're the ghost hunter, not me." She cocked her head as if listening. "But I think we're only spectators now."

And she pulled him back as two spirits came racing in, aimed for Sam's lolling body.

* * *

From the backseat of the car Sam could feel his jaw aching. Dean had a strong arm.

He felt like crap. No, that was an understatement. He felt really, really bad, exhausted and limp. He couldn't hold on much longer. And the demon sharing his body knew that.

_Not long now, Sammy,_ it whispered audibly. _Why don't you give up? Just give up. It would be so much easier._

_Never,_ Sam spat viciously. _I'm not letting you hurt anyone else._

He tried to fend off the demon as it made yet another launch for that bundle of powers Sam still held.

Sam seized them, but couldn't stop the demon from taking a hold as well. He grunted with the effort as the contest went on. And then the demon let go, laughing. Sam just retreated to a corner of his mind, hiding the bundle from its view.

He was exhausted. _I can't wait until my brother kills you,_ he muttered. It was all he could manage. The demon laughed again.

_Earlier it was 'me and my brother'. What happened Sammy?_ Sam didn't answer and it laughed. _It's all right. I know anyway. You've accepted it. That you're going to die if he does this._

_I've accepted that you underestimated my brother. You, a super-psychic demon, caught by a human._ He gave a short laugh. _Now that is something._

_You don't have to die,_ the demon whispered seductively. _Just give me my powers and you'll live forever._

_That's not going to happen._

The demon actually screamed with sudden anger, and lunged for its bundle. Sam latched on, barely, and again began that relentless struggle. Only this time the demon didn't let go. It kept on pulling and pulling. Sam could feel the powers slipping...

A change shocked the demon into letting go. Sam, who had felt it before, sighed in relief. Finally.

_What's happening, boy?_ the demon demanded. Sam was only too glad to answer.

_We're at Archer's house. In his room. Just like my note told Dean._

The demon screamed again. A second later Sam was too, as it turned on the pain in his head, just like it had back in its lair. He felt his body whimpering.

And then two somethings hit his body, and he and the demon both were screaming.

* * *

Dean watched on, horrified, as Sam's body kept on bucking. The two spirits were all over him, tearing away at nothing, pulling at nothing. And as they tore the two spirits began to turn from wisps into ghost-like forms. He recognised them now. Archer and O'Conner.

He wondered if Sam had recognised them. Or realized that the two spirits would be restless, vengeful and uncaring of anything in the way in their lust for justice on the demon.

Sasha was partially holding him back; partially he was too stunned to do anything. The two spirits were screaming wordlessly and silently, and the room felt far too quiet for all the visible commotion. At least to him.

"They're so angry. So loud," Sasha suddenly whispered, her voice trembling.

"You can hear them? What are they saying?"

"They want revenge. They call it justice. They're telling Sam to get out the way or die." She swallowed.

Dean wanted to hit something and felt his fist clench before he forced it to relax. "He can't. How can he do that?"

Sasha shook her head. "I know that. But they don't."

"What are they saying now?"

"The same. 'Our revenge, our justice. Move boy. Accept the inevitable, murderer.' It just repeats. And they scream."

She shuddered, but her words reminded Dean of Archer's letter. _Make him accept it..._ He could get Sam out of this alive.

He ran forward, shaking off Sasha, to land on his knees beside Sam. He placed a hand on one of Sam's shoulders, flinching as the spirits passed through him, ignoring him as they continued to tear at something inside Sam. They didn't hurt him, but the feeling was incredibly weird.

"Sammy can you hear me?" He was afraid to shout it - the room was so silent. "Sam, you have to accept it. Allow your ability in. You can do this, Sam."

* * *

Inside his own mind Sam was in agony. It was all he could do to hold onto himself. Never before had he felt such pain. The struggle in his head raged.

The two spirits were trying desperately to rip the demon from Sam, fighting to exorcise him. The demon held on with all its might, held onto Sam, who felt it all.

And then the pain suddenly lessened. It still hurt like hell, but it wasn't blinding, mindless pain. He felt a comfort on one of his shoulders. It had to be...

Dean's voice broke through his sub-conscious.

_Sammy, can you hear me?_ Sam wanted to shout yes. _Sam you have to accept it. Allow your ability in. You can do this Sam._

Let it in? After months of keeping it out? After years of trying to be normal, he was just supposed to bring it in? Let the freakiness be a part of him? No way in hell. He shoved it further away without thinking.

Suddenly the demon cackled. It let go of its precarious hold and snatched back its powers. Immediately Sam saw his mistake. It had been his powers holding its and now that he had shoved his away, suppressed his ability...

The demon laughed as the pain stopped, or nearly did. Sam could still feel the pain, but it was like a memory, or an echo.

And it didn't hurt so much as the fact that he was again a prisoner in his own mind.

_NO!_ he screamed, clawing his way back up. The demon just laughed.

_Thank you Sammy,_ it said as it shoved him back down.

* * *

Dean jumped back as Sam opened his eyes. His cold, triumphant eyes.

"Hello Dean," the demon whispered. Then, "Back off!"

Dean flew backwards onto the floor, twisting his already sore back and landing on it with a thud.

He and the demon stood at the same time. Dean's heart was like ice. What had happened to Sam?

He saw Sasha flinch as one of the spirits opened its mouth in a scream. Dean couldn't see it but the hairs on his arms stood up. The spirits appeared to be doing nothing to the demon anymore.

The demon glanced at the door. Dean looked that way too and then ran to step in front of it.

"You're not going anywhere 'til you give me my brother back."

The demon smiled. "And how are you going to stop me?"

Dean snarled. He wasn't going to. Sam was.

"Sam, I know you can hear me. Fight it. Get your psychic butt into gear."

The demon laughed. "He can't hear you." In a fluid, unhuman movement it stepped over its hands. And then, in a massive show of strength, tore the rope in half.

"And you can't stop me, human." And it flung its arm out.

Dean went flying into the wall. He heard Sasha move and then her scream was cut off as she too crashed into the wall. The demon's footfalls were soft.

Dean struggled to his elbows. "Sammy, stop. You can't let the bastard win!"

The demon continued walking to the door.

* * *

Sooooooooo….. How'd you like it? Good cliffhanger? Tune in tomorrow for the last chapter… will Sam survive? He he he.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I think you know by now.

**Warning:** Confusion, once more. Thank God no one's said anything yet, I was hoping it would be okay! Otherwise, there's a few naughty words.

**Author's Note:** So, this is it people. The last chapter! Loved writing this one, and I love all you wonderful, wonderful people out there who kept me posting with your reviews. I love you all! Here you go, the last one…

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* * *

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Chapter 11: Exorcism

"Sam!" Dean screamed. He couldn't lose his brother, not to a fucking demon of all things.

It worked this time.

Just as the demon reached the door, spirits backing off angrily, a shudder passed through Sam's body. And then it flew backwards with a force like nothing Dean had ever seen. His brother's body flopped to the ground by the wall.

Dean stood, but didn't get far. The demon was far from beaten: the elder hunter smashed back into the wall.

The spirits attacked with renewed energy. Sam's back arched and a scream, the first one, erupted from his mouth. But it was more frustrated than anything.

Another shudder passed through Sam, who, while trying to stand, thumped against the wall hard enough to crack it.

"I will!" the demon suddenly screamed, actually trying to fend off the spirits by swatting them. It was a vain effort. "I've worked too hard for this. At least one of you will die and I will have my revenge!"

And his gaze turned to Dean. The older Winchester stopped, fear actually filling him. And he went crashing into the wall once more, invisible pressure against his throat, crushing all chance of breathing.

* * *

Sam heard Dean yell, from his prison inside his mind. It ripped through him, letting him know he was failing his big brother.

"Sammy stop!" But Sam couldn't do anything. He was trying, trying so hard, but it was useless.

"You can't let the bastard win!"

He wasn't letting the demon do anything. _I'm trying Dean, I'm trying._

"Sam!"

This time the frustration and fear in his brother's voice created an unbelievable spur and he set his sights on the demon sharing his head.

_NO!_ Sam screamed; it was half a shout of effort. And then suddenly he was back in his own mind. _I'm not going anywhere!_

His body fell to the floor before he realized he had hit the wall. Before he realized he had made himself hit the wall.

_No, you're not getting them!_ the demon shouted, and on seeing Dean get up, threw the older hunter back into the wall.

_I won't let you hurt him,_ Sam gasped, trying to beat the demon back. He thumped himself into the wall hard once more. _You won't get away._

"I will!" The demon shouted it with Sam's mouth, the lack of control a sign of his anger and frustration. And fear. "I've worked too hard for this. At least one of you will die and I will have my revenge!"

Before Sam could stop it, the demon had Dean against the wall, three feet off the ground, choking the life from him.

_No!_ Sam screamed yet again, lunging for the demon. He felt his whole body move, but the demon just danced out of reach in the world the two psychics shared.

_Let him go,_ Sam pleaded, unbelieving that he was doing so. But he backed off as well, at least in his mind, just a little. The spirits were still tearing at him he realized, but their existence was almost inconsequential now. It meant nothing to either Sam or the demon.

He took a few deep breaths. Dean didn't have long. _If you want me, come and get me._ And he opened himself up completely. Accept it, Dean had said. And Archer. Even the demon had. Accept it.

The demon, caught in glee and triumph, let Dean drop to the floor and, actions completely within Sam's mind, rushed at the Winchester. Sam's body fell backwards to the ground as the two minds collided.

He had lost himself for a bare instant. Completely and almost utterly lost himself, for a few seconds that lasted a lifetime. The demon cackled, invading Sam's all, seizing his mind completely.

_Now you both will die,_ it screeched victoriously.

_I don't think so,_ Sam replied. From here the pain of the two spirits trying desperately to tear the demon away was absolutely nothing. The demon was all, everything, swallowing him completely. But Sam could do the same to it. The demon just hadn't realized that.

_I'll kill your brother first,_ it muttered, enjoying enveloping Sam, filling him; it was disgusting and pervasive. Sam had never felt so wrong in all his life. But he remained open, not fighting, as much as he wanted to. _And then your father. Will you enjoy that?_

Sam felt his anger and drew it in. It would help.

_And then you and I will roam the world, taking death and destruction with us._

Soon, Sam promised himself. Just wait. Not much long. Just endure this little bit more.

_But first your brother. It will be long and slow and very, very painful._

For an answer Sam lunged, overturning the demon's confident siege. He seized the being inside his head, and, using its power against it, combined with the ravenous pulling of Archer and O'Conner, flung the demon from his body.

The impact of freedom was shocking, stunning his body like he had known it would. He could feel his heart slowing... Just one... last... thing...

* * *

Dean had been preparing to grab his still brother when Sam's back arched impossibly and the two spirits - no, three - flew backwards from the limp form of the youngest Winchester. He watched in amazement as the three - Archer, O'Conner and a vainly struggling demon - flew out the wall to the street below.

"Dean."

He heard his brother's hoarse voice and crawled the rest of the way to him.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean had to force back tears of relief.

"Dean, the body. Burn it, quickly."

Dean half-nodded, torn between killing the evil bitch and staying with his brother. A hand pulled him away.

"Dean, go," Sasha implored. "I'll stay with Sam."

He nodded fully this time, stumbling straight into a run. He was feeling too numb not to comply with his brother's struggling order. He almost fell on the stairs, taking them three at a time. The back door was still open, and he tore around to the front.

A sight met his eyes. It seemed like the whole neighbourhood was out, as well as all the police. Had they been making that much noise?

He shook himself mentally and ran to his car. Brian was there.

"Dean, what's going on? What the hell is that?" Dean had just opened the trunk to reveal the demon's body. A collective murmur ran through the crowd.

"It's the demon," he muttered quietly, hoping only Brian could hear. Someone else had good ears, and laughed.

"Demons don't exist boy." That was Walt, Claire's uncle. Dean didn't turn, just pulled the body from the trunk. A gasp filled the street.

"Tell that to this son of a bitch," he replied angrily. He looked through his tools for the salt and holy water.

"Do you have licences for all -?" Walt began, voice shocked. Dean found the salt and holy water while Brian interrupted the cop.

"Walt, be quiet. You have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean tossed aside the containers, having poured the contents over the demon's twitching body. He hadn't noticed that before.

"Brian, you can't tell me -." Walt cut off as a whoosh forced the crowd back. The demon began burning quickly. And its spirit began screaming, covering all sounds of the crowd doing likewise.

Dean watched, standing next to Brian; both men had a fierce light in their eyes. One had lost a brother to this creature, and the other almost had. Or so he thought.

A scream filled the air, coming from Archer's house. "Dean!"

It was Sasha. Turning to Brian, Dean told him to keep the body burning until not even ashes remained. Then he ran to the room again.

* * *

Sasha was leaning over Sam, holding his hand. Blood ran from his brother's nose and mouth. She turned to him, crying.

"Dean, he's not breathing."

Dean fell to his knees beside Sam, his mind instinctively forcing away panic. He checked for a pulse. Sasha was right.

Taking a deep breath, Dean bent over and began CPR. He did the compressions, counting and talking. "Come on Sammy. Breathe buddy, breath. Don't let that demon win, not now. Breathe."

Sasha was there as he backed off. She breathed once, twice for Sam, letting Dean take his own breaths. Then he restarted almost robotically, still talking, not letting himself feel the panic.

"Don't Sammy. I swear if you die, I will kill you. Don't leave, please don't leave. We still haven't found Dad. Come on!"

Sasha bent over and Dean gasped in unison with her exhales. The panic was rising. Sam still had no pulse. He laced his fingers for a third time.

"Don't you dare fucking do this Sam. Don't you dare. You can't... please!" It was a frustrated plea, almost a scream. He didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs, just leaned back, wiping away what he refused to believe were tears. He wasn't crying. Sam wasn't dead, he couldn't be. People paused at the door as he began compressions again, a little harder this time.

"Come on, kiddo. This isn't your time. You haven't had the kids, the dog, that white picket fence. Don't fucking give up Sam! Come on!"

This time it was a scream, and this time he didn't wipe away the tears. This couldn't be happening. Sammy couldn't be dead. He wasn't, he refused to believe it. How long had he been down? This couldn't be happening.

"No. Don't Sam! You can't leave, not now, not ever. Come. Back!"

On that last word, that last screaming sob, he swung his fist as hard as he could down on Sam's chest. And on impact, his brother gasped and opened his eyes, struggling to sit up. Sasha pushed him back down: Dean felt too weak from relief to do anything. He could feel his hands shaking, the tears burning.

"I'm back," Sam stated disbelievingly. Dean laughed, wiping away tears.

"Yeah, Sammy, your back."

And he hugged his brother for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Dawn found them sitting in the town hospital. It wasn't really a hospital, but more of a medical centre. Sam felt exhausted. Everywhere hurt except - funnily enough - his head.

The doctor - Lucy Taylor's son as it turned out - had just finished checking them over, and was leaving with a startled awe-stricken look on his face. Dean was fine, apart from a nasty bruise on his back. Surprisingly Sam was as well, despite being possessed, exorcised, killed and then being brought back to life by his stubborn brother.

Dean was shaking his head. "What?" Sam asked.

"Just thinking. Dad would kill us if he knew about this. A whole town knows the Winchester secret."

Sam chuckled. "I wasn't the one who decided to burn a demon in the middle of a street."

Dean scowled. "Yeah, but you were the one who told me to do it. And I wasn't the one who was possessed and throwing people into walls."

A thought crossed his mind and he growled, punching Sam in the arm. The younger man gave his brother a startled look, rubbing the offended limb.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You, you stupid... If you ever walk knowingly into a possession again, I will smack you so hard."

Sam felt the guilt rise, flushing his face. "It was the only way I knew to get rid of the demon, without it hurting anyone else."

"I don't care. You don't put yourself into danger."

This time it was anger that rose. "It's what we do Dean, like you always say. Not a hunt goes by where we're not in danger."

Dean sighed. "I know. But I don't want to see you die." It was said quiet, and not just because Dean was afraid of a 'chick-flick' moment. Sam cast his eyes down.

"I don't want to see you die either Dean."

Dean was silent for a moment. "This has been the weirdest, scariest three days of my life. I knew there was a reason for hating small towns."

Sam laughed, nodding. That was Dean, lightening an emotional moment any way he could.

* * *

Three days later the Impala rolled out of town.

* * *

The End.

So, there it is my freaky-deaky readers. Sorry, stole that line from a friend. Hope you loved it, or at least liked it. Not the line, the story. He he, thanks for reading!


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